From Friends with Benefits to Endless Love
by GoodShipSherlollipop
Summary: When Sherlock gets a last minute reprieve from his one-way mission, relief turns to passion for Molly and himself. Desperate Molly makes a life-altering decision to embark on a FWB relationship with the man she loves, despite knowing he may never love her back. Mostly canon compliant thru S4 and beyond. Secret relationship. (RoLD series, Part 9). Sensual, not-explicit, see A/N.
1. Leaving on a Jet Plane

**Author's note:** Before we begin, I'd like to address some potential concerns people might have in seeing me write a story like this.

First off, this isn't the typical "friends with benefits" story with two consenting adults who are just friends who want to have a sexual relationship with no strings attached. It's a story of a woman who is desperately in love with a man, who makes a decision that she would rather have Sherlock on his own terms than not at all. It was through a discussion with someone on the whole "friends with benefits" topic that I started thinking about this story. I said to my friend that the only way I could see Molly doing something like that is if she acknowledged her love for Sherlock, that for her it would be love, even if for him it was merely desire. This story, started ten months ago and written in just over the space of a month, is the result.

"But a Christian would surely not compromise their values that way!" you may say in tones of shock and horror. Here I would have to point out to you that, as I have said before, Christians don't have some magic powers that prevent them from making mistakes and succumbing to temptation. Christians seek and desire love as much as anyone else and sometimes those desires lead them to stray from what they have been taught.

However, because my Molly is a Christian, there are consequences for her actions that will happen further into the story. I'm not going to just leave the issues of her throwing away her values unaddressed. I try to show serious topics in my stories, topics others might not be comfortable with, to highlight that despite making mistakes, God is a God of forgiveness and grace. Nobody is beyond redemption. While I certainly would not condone what happens in this story or the choices Molly makes in the dream, I do hope you will follow this journey with an open mind.

This story is M-rated due to the sensitive theme and discussions that surround it as well as the love scenes. There's nothing explicit, as my usual readers would know, but if you are sensitive to reading that kind of thing, I will be putting advance notice at the beginning of chapters that contain more intense love scenes. I do think the subject is one that comes up a lot in real situations, so perhaps this will offer people a slightly different take on the scenario and I hope you will stick with it.

With that being said, I would really like to hear what you as the reader think about this scenario and its relevance in today's society, so think about it, and I hope you will leave your reviews on it as you follow the story.

Thanks to **Elizabeth Robello **for the cover image!

* * *

Molly Hooper was royally pissed off with Sherlock Holmes. She bent forward, elbows on the sink in front of her kitchen window with unseeing eyes, both hands clasped behind her neck, and tried to reason with herself.

_If Sherlock doesn't feel like sharing details of his private life with you, that's his prerogative._ Nonetheless, it _hurt_.

Everything had been almost back to normal for them for the past several months, ever since she had broken off her engagement with Tom. Sherlock had been seeing her regularly at the hospital, and she had been hoping to take care of him after that incident when he had been shot after breaking into Magnussen's office.

They had returned to that easy camaraderie where they worked side-by-side when needed, when she had done a postmortem for a murder victim in a case he happened to be investigating. They always worked well together. For the last couple weeks though, he had seemed a little on edge about things, just a little _off_. She had tried to ask what was going on but he had been cagey, only saying that it pertained to the Magnussen case which had not been resolved.

Sherlock had told her he was going down to Sussex with Mycroft for Christmas to see his parents, and that John and Mary had also been invited. Molly was glad that the couple would be spending some time away from London, their relationship of late had seemed somewhat strained, and Molly wondered if it was due to Mary's pregnancy. She had heard about pregnancy hormones causing a lot of stress in relationships.

So that was all fine. On Christmas morning, during a break from work, (yes, she was working the holiday as usual), Molly had sent a text to Sherlock wishing him a Merry Christmas, to which he had dutifully responded, with a polite Merry Christmas of his own.

The following day however, when she had texted him to ask how his Christmas Day had gone, he had not responded. She had not been unduly concerned. Sherlock had a tendency to get distracted with his work, although it seemed a little odd that he would be working on a case straight after Christmas. She gave him two days and sent another text asking how he was doing. Still no response.

At this point, Molly began to grow a little concerned. He didn't usually wait this long to text her back; in fact, they texted quite frequently, especially when they were both involved in the same case.

Another two days passed and Molly tried once more. She waited in vain for Sherlock to get back to her, and found herself becoming annoyed. They had been on perfectly good terms before Christmas, and she didn't understand what was going on, why he was avoiding her. His refusal to respond had become an aggravation.

Now it was New Year's Day and it had been over a week since Molly had heard from the man she _had_ considered a friend, who now seemed to be acting the way he had done when she had been engaged, deliberately ignoring her, except when he had no choice.

Molly moved away from the window and picked up her cup of tea from the counter, nursing it in her hand as she sat at her dining table. Her phone, which was on the table in front of her, began to ring. As soon as she saw the caller ID - _Sherlock_, she ignored it, taking a sip of her tea instead. _Let him have a taste of his own medicine and see what it's like to be ignored, _she thought rather resentfully, even as the phone stopped ringing.

She was trying to decide whether to read a book or turn on the television when the phone rang again. _Persistent bugger,_ she thought, deciding she should pick it up just in case there was an emergency. She picked up the phone and answered.

"Hello Sherlock," She said rather tersely. "Is this urgent? I'm not having a good day." _Let's see how you like it when I'm too busy for you,_ she thought a little belligerently.

"Yes, Molly, I have an urgent request for you." To her surprise his voice sounded a little tense. No apology for ignoring her for a week though.

She huffed out a breath. He probably needed her to find some stupid body part for an experiment. "I'm not at the lab," she told him flatly, reaching for her cup to take a sip of tea.

"It's not about that," came his response, and Molly suddenly wondered why he had taken the trouble to call her rather than text. That was most unlike Sherlock. Come to think of it, he very rarely talked to her on the phone.

"Well, quickly then," When Sherlock still didn't answer after a few seconds, she made an exasperated sound and said, "Sherlock, what is it? What do you want?"

"Molly, I need you to go with John and Mary to this location tomorrow afternoon at one o'clock, no questions asked." He named a private airfield and Molly shook her head in bemusement. _What the hell is he playing at? _But she was not in the mood to do him any favours.

"Why are you suddenly making requests of me? You haven't spoken to me in over a week, and now you want me to meet you somewhere. What's this all about?" She twirled a strand of hair that had come loose from her ponytail, around her finger, waiting for his response.

When it came, she heard his voice falter a little. "Molly, I did something a bit not good, well actually, a _lot_ not good."

Molly swallowed, and her heart began to pound. "Was it something to do with that Magnussen case?"

"Yes," he said, and she heard the note of defeat in his voice. "I can't tell you this over the phone, but will you come to the airfield tomorrow with John and Mary?"

Molly bit her lip. Whatever was going on, she knew it was no game. "All right, Sherlock. Will you tell me what this is all about then?"

His voice was strained. "Yes, I'll explain tomorrow. Thank you. I'll see you then." And the line went dead.

Molly set the phone down on the counter. Whatever it was that Sherlock had to tell her, she had a feeling it wasn't going to be good news. Well, first things first. Molly called Mike to let him know she would not be at work the following day.

Not long afterwards, she received a text from John, letting her know that he and Mary would stop by the next day, soon after midday, and they would travel to the airfield together. Molly sent an affirmative response.

She didn't sleep well that night, tossing and turning, wondering what was going on. So it was a rather tense and sleep deprived woman who entered the black vehicle the following day.

As Molly slid into the back, next to Mary, the other woman looked at her in concern. "Burning the candle at both ends, Molly?" she asked kindly, well aware that Molly was no stranger to working double shift when the need arose.

Molly rubbed a weary hand over her eyes. "Not really, I just didn't sleep very well. Look, has Sherlock told you what's going on?"

Mary gave her a pained look. "I'm sorry, we do know what's going on but it's not our place to say."

John had his arm resting around Mary's shoulder, and Molly saw a new closeness between them. _Well, at least they seem to be happy once again, _she thought. She let out a long breath. "I understand. I just don't know what's so important that he couldn't have told me over the phone or over text."

She noticed the look Mary and John exchanged, before John responded, "I think he's doing the right thing in telling you in person."

Molly furrowed her brow, wondering at the cryptic comment, but said no more, and it was a quiet ride to the airfield.

As soon as she saw the small jet and noticed Sherlock standing in front of it between Mycroft and a man she didn't recognise, Molly's stomach suddenly dropped. She had a very bad feeling about this. She swallowed, trying to get rid of the sudden lump in her throat.

Mary was the first to exit the car and head straight to Sherlock, followed by John, with Molly trailing behind, feeling dread settle within her.

"You will look after him for me, won't you?" were Sherlock's first words, as Mary embraced him.

Molly stared. _What the hell is going on? Why does Sherlock sound like he's leaving?_

"Don't worry, I'll keep him in trouble," was Mary's lighthearted response.

Sherlock smiled at her. "That's my girl." He hadn't even looked at Molly yet.

Mary returned to stand beside Molly and John went up to Sherlock.

Then she heard Sherlock's words to his brother and her heart plummeted further. _Last conversation,_ she thought numbly, as John and Sherlock walked off a little way for some privacy.

A couple minutes later John returned to them, and Sherlock with him. "Molly, can I speak to you for just a minute?"

She nodded, barely hearing him through the rush of blood that was pulsing in her head. She had a terrible feeling that Sherlock was going to say goodbye to her.

She followed Sherlock to a spot out of earshot of the other people gathered by the plane.

Her worst fears were confirmed with his next words. "I wanted to say goodbye in person."

Molly could feel tears immediately forming in her eyes. "Why, Sherlock?" she almost whispered, feeling her lips begin to tremble.

Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back. "I made a great miscalculation. I was so sure of myself, so arrogant, and it made me overconfident." Molly noticed a muscle twitching in his jaw as he continued. "That error led to me being put into an untenable situation where John's future was in danger as well as mine. So I did the only thing I thought I could do." He stopped and looked down, as if unable or ashamed to continue.

Molly could feel the bile rising in her throat. "What did you do, Sherlock?" she asked, and now she could feel her whole body was beginning to shake in fear of what he was about to say next.

He took a few deep breaths, as if to draw strength from them, then looked into her eyes. "I shot him, Molly, in the head. I killed Magnussen."

Molly put her hands to her mouth, feeling the colour drain from her face as she felt faint. "Oh my God." Tears slipped down her cheeks as she forced herself to ask, "So, what happens now?"

"Mycroft is sending me on a mission to eastern Europe to get me out of London." He blinked rapidly, as if tears were close to the surface for him as well. Then he breathed in through his nose and added, "It's a one-way mission. I won't be coming back."

The tears overflowed and began to run down her cheeks. "Dear God, Sherlock, I'm so sorry." Without even realising what she was doing, she stepped closer to him and put her hands around his waist, holding him as tightly as she could, through the thick fabric of his trademark Belstaff coat. Sherlock's arms came around her as well, and she felt him rest his chin briefly on top of her head.

"I'm sorry too, Molly," he told her, and she heard a catch in his voice as he said the words. "Don't think too badly of me, will you?"

Mycroft's voice calling from the distance interrupted them. "Sherlock, you need to go."

Sherlock released his hold on Molly and turned to his brother, yelling back at him in a belligerent manner, "For God's sake, Mycroft. Please allow me the time to say goodbye to my friend."

_Yes, we are friends,_ thought Molly miserably. _And now, we will never have a chance to even think about anything beyond that,_ not that Sherlock had made any indication of a romantic interest in her. Well, at least not since that day they had spent together, when there had seemed to be an electric current passing between them, until he had discovered she was engaged.

She had tried for months to make her relationship work with Tom following that unforgettable day, but had finally realised at John and Mary's wedding that she was deluding herself. As soon as Sherlock had come back into her life after that two year absence, she had known, in her deepest heart of hearts, that he was the man she truly loved, would always love.

That tiny spark of hope she had nurtured, died away now, even as she said, "I could never think badly of you, Sherlock."

And then suddenly, unexpectedly, he bent and brushed her lips with his own, then rose back to his full height and said, "Goodbye, Molly. Take care of yourself." She noticed the tears on his own lashes, as he turned abruptly away and strode back towards Mycroft, leaving her standing there, devastated. She put her fingers to her lips. That touch of his lips had sent a thrill coursing through her, one she would never forget, that immediately burned into her memory.

She began to walk back towards John and Mary, as tears continued to blur her vision, watching as Sherlock climbed the stairs into the jet.

A few minutes later, Molly stood with John and Mary, watching the jet plane taxi down the runway, then become airborne, taking away the man she loved and her heart along with it.

Molly put her face in her hands and began to cry again, and Mary put an arm around her shoulder. "You care for him a great deal, don't you?" she asked kindly, giving Molly's shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Before Molly had a chance to formulate a response, John's voice broke in. "Well of course she does, Mary," he said, in a rather exasperated tone. "They've been friends for _years_."

Molly lifted her face from her hands and was about to respond, when Mary frowned and retorted to her husband, "John, I love you, but sometimes you're a blind fool. I mean she cares about him as more than as a mere friend." Then she shifted her focus again to Molly. "It's true, isn't it? I'm sure your feelings run much deeper than friendship."

Molly gave her a wobbly smile as her hands clenched convulsively. "It's true. It's always been true." She looked down at the ground, biting her lip. "I love him."

"Oh my God, Molly. I had no idea. I thought you got over that crush on him ages ago, years even. I mean, you were even engaged to another man until a few months ago." John's voice was kind, sympathetic, and Molly raised her eyes to his.

"I broke off my engagement because I realised I had never truly got over Sherlock, but there would have been no point in telling him. I would rather have a little piece of Sherlock, than nothing, if he knew how I felt about him." Her lips trembled as she added, "and now I have nothing anyway."

"Well, he'll be back in a few months," responded John consolingly. "He told me the mission should take around six months, so you can still be friends."

Molly looked at him in surprise. "He didn't tell you, then?"

"Tell me what?" John looked a little confused.

"Sherlock told me it's a one-way mission. He's not coming back." Molly couldn't prevent the sob that escaped her mouth after the last word.

John stared at her in shock. "Oh my God. He did say it was unlikely we'd ever meet again, but I thought he was just being a drama queen. You know how Sherlock can be."

"Not this time," Molly responded miserably.

Mary seemed about to speak, but at that moment they heard the sound of a car door being opened, and Mycroft stepped out of the vehicle in which he had been sitting, preparing to leave. He walked over to them. "Well, it looks as if my brother's exile was slightly shorter than I had anticipated." He showed them the video screen on a device he was holding. Moriarty's image was on it, and the words "Miss me?" were written next to his computer generated face as a mechanised voice said, _"Did you miss me?" _repeatedly, while the image's lips moved.

"But Moriarty is dead!" gasped Molly, looking at Mycroft in shock. "I saw his body myself."

Mycroft shrugged. "I can't explain the image, but it was just displayed on every television screen in the country simultaneously. It appears England has need of Sherlock Holmes."

"You mean he's coming back, then?" questioned John with a raised eyebrow and a rather pleased smile on his face.

"I've already notified the jet to turn around. It appears I'm going to have to work out another way to fix this abominable mess my brother got himself into."

Molly's heart leapt in response at Mycroft's words. _He's coming back. He's not leaving forever after all,_ she thought in amazement and exhilaration.

The foursome stood and watched as the small jet circled the airfield and touched down on the runway ahead of them.

"Well, I suppose we should go and welcome him back," announced Mary brightly, as she moved toward the jet, once the steps were lowered.

John and Mycroft followed right behind, but Molly hung back. She suddenly felt nervous about seeing Sherlock again so soon when she had just tried to come to terms with him leaving, and her face still bore the ravages of her emotional breakdown. "I...I think I'm just going to wait here," she said, offering a small smile. By the sympathetic glance Mary gave her, she knew the other woman understood that she needed some time to compose herself.

* * *

**Author's note:** Well, that's the set-up for the story. And yes, I deliberately added in some canon from "The Phone Call." Have you ever wondered what would have happened if Molly too had been at the airfield to see Sherlock off? I know she would have been heart-broken. Do you think he would have felt mere regret at leaving her as well or something more?


	2. Unexpected ReTurn to Passion

**Author's note:** Well, here is my first warning of the sensual content in this chapter. In reality, it's probably what most other authors would consider a hard-T, but I just want to give the alert to my more sensitive readers.

* * *

A few minutes later Molly watched as Sherlock stepped into the doorway of the plane followed closely by Mary and began to descend the steps. He almost stumbled on the last step as his eyes suddenly alighted on Molly who was still standing a few feet away.

"Molly!" he exclaimed, and she noticed immediately the signs of drug usage. He was walking a little unsteadily and his eyes looked too bright, with blown-out pupils. Why hadn's she noticed that earlier?

She folded her arms across her chest. She didn't feel like crying anymore, she was angry instead. "You're high again," she stated baldly. "So much for only using drugs because you were on a _case_."

Sherlock had the grace to look a little ashamed of himself. "Well, I do have a case _now_," he offered with a lopsided grin, as if that would make everything right.

Molly gave him an unimpressed look, even as Mycroft finally descended the stairs behind John and stood next to Sherlock.

"I suppose I am going to have to assign a security detail to keep you out of trouble and off the sauce," he said, putting his hand none-too-gently on Sherlock's shoulder.

"I don't need a security detail," Sherlock growled belligerently to his brother, shaking off the hand and scowling.

"How else am I supposed to see that you stay away from drugs while I figure out how to get you a pardon?" Mycroft asked in a soft yet deadly tone.

Sherlock looked at Molly, who was still feeling angry, and she knew her cheeks were now flushed because of that anger, rather than earlier tears. "Molly can look after me," he stated firmly, looking back at his brother.

John and Mary, who had been silently watching, exchanged glances.

Mycroft compressed his lips into a thin line, considering Sherlock's words. Then he looked at Molly. "Would you be willing to take over the care of my brother for a short time, Doctor Hooper?"

Molly hesitated. The thought of being alone with Sherlock at Baker Street suddenly made her feel nervous. "I…I don't know. I have work tomorrow."

Mycroft huffed out a breath. "That is not a problem. I can easily arrange for you to take a few days off, with pay of course."

Molly caught sight of Sherlock's pleading expression and capitulated. "Very well. But I need to go home and pack a few things first if you need me to stay over at Baker Street."

Mycroft gave her a curt nod, and a thin-lipped smile. "I can have the driver drop John and Mary home and then he can wait for you as you put together a few things before heading to Baker Street."

Mycroft gestured for Sherlock to head back into his own vehicle, where his suitcase was being stowed, and Molly went with John and Mary to the other one.

Within an hour Molly had packed what she needed and was standing at the street entrance to 221B Baker Street.

She knocked, and Mrs. Hudson answered the door. "Isn't it wonderful that Sherlock didn't need to go away on that extended mission?" enthused the older woman as she opened the door to let Molly in. "I was so worried about him, but it's all come right in the end, hasn't it?"

Molly wasn't sure about that, but she wasn't about to argue with the elderly woman. obviously Mrs. Hudson had no idea that Sherlock's absence had been intended to be permanent. Instead she gave her a brief smile and nodded. "Yes it has, Mrs. Hudson."

Mrs. Hudson suddenly noticed the duffel bag slung over Molly's shoulder and narrowed her eyes. "Are you planning to stay over for some reason?" Then her eyes widened. "Oh my God, are you and Sherlock – seeing each other? Have you been carrying on under my nose and I didn't realise it before?"

Molly felt the colour rise in her cheeks and she couldn't help rolling her eyes a little. She certainly couldn't have Mrs. Hudson getting the wrong idea, so she decided to tell the truth. Mrs. Hudson already knew Sherlock had had issues with drugs in the past. "No, we are not _together_. Sherlock has been using again, and he needs a watcher. Mycroft asked if I would take care of him for a few days, make sure he stays clean."

Mrs. Hudson clapped her hands to her mouth. "Dear God, he hasn't started that nonsense again, has he?" There was a note of sadness in her voice as she finally stepped aside to allow Molly proper entrance into the building.

"I'm afraid so." Molly bit her lip, then continued. "I intend to make sure he stays clean this time, though. He can't keep abusing his body this way."

"I should say not," exclaimed the landlady in tones of horror. "He has such a brilliant mind, and it would be a shame for him to waste it."

I agree," said Molly, hefting her bag more firmly over her shoulder. It was getting increasingly heavy to carry it and hold a conversation at the same time. "I'm going to just head up now if you don't mind, Mrs. Hudson."

"Of course, of course," the woman assured her, giving Molly a little pat on the shoulder before turning and returning to her own flat.

Molly ascended the store stairs and was not particularly surprised when Sherlock opened the door before she even had a chance to knock.

"There you are," he said rather querulously, frowning at her. "What took you so long?" He moved aside so she could step into the flat.

Molly let out an exasperated breath as Sherlock closed the door behind her. She set the duffel bag down and indicated it. "I had to pick up a few things from my flat," she informed him. Her lips tightened. "I didn't come to the airfield with the intention of spending a few nights at your place."

Unexpectedly his expression softened and he took her hand. "Well, this is certainly a better outcome than what I first anticipated when I called you yesterday." He stroked the back of her hand gently and Molly felt her heartbeat accelerate. Why was he touching her this way?

He was staring at her transfixed, as if she were the most fascinating thing he had ever seen.

Molly swallowed nervously and tried to pull her hand away, but he refused to release it. Instead, his other hand came up to touch her face, stroking her cheek, and she caught her breath as he said quietly in a deep voice, keeping his eyes on hers, "You seemed rather distraught to see me leave - aren't you at least going to welcome me back?"

Her chest began to rise and fall rapidly as he tilted her chin upwards just enough, then bent his own head downwards. She barely had the chance to wonder silently, _Is he really going to kiss me? _before he answered the unspoken question and his lips descended onto hers.

The moment their lips met, Molly knew this was not to be a mere brush of the lips, no greeting between friends. This was the type of kiss reserved for two people who cared about each other in a romantic way.

It was a kiss she had dreamed of, but never seriously expected to receive. And it was even more thrilling than she could have imagined. Sherlock's lips covered her mouth completely, firm and possessive, yet sensual, demanding a response. His hand left hers to encircle her waist and pull her closer, even as Molly dared for the first time to raise her hands and trail them through the curls at the nape of his neck.

Heat flooded through her as she yielded to him. She could feel Sherlock's chest was rising and falling just as rapidly as her own was, even as he finally pulled his mouth away from hers to mutter hoarsely, "Molly, how is it I didn't know before now how utterly intoxicating you are?"

She instinctively knew that Sherlock was still riding the wave of his high, and not in full control of his faculties, but at that moment, she didn't care. All she knew was that this was the man she had loved for so long. She was in no doubt that his body was responding physically to her as well, as he had pressed close to her during that sizzling embrace.

She did not protest as he pulled her close once again and began to kiss her hungrily, this time moving his mouth from hers to trail kisses along her throat, touching with his lips that pulse point that throbbed with a rapid tattoo in response to his touches. She barely noticed as he began to tug at her blouse, pulling it free of her trousers and sliding his hands beneath it to touch her breasts through her bra. She gasped at the unfamiliar sensation. She had never allowed Tom to touch her that way, even when they had been engaged, much to his annoyance. In fact, their relationship had never progressed past the kissing stage because she had told him she expected a wedding ring on her finger first, before they could become intimate. It had not been easy for him, although she had not felt any overwhelming desire to consummate their relationship in advance.

Yet here was Sherlock, touching her in a way that made wild sensations run through her body. Instead of pulling away from him and telling him he was going too fast, she arched into his touch, inviting him to continue without conscious thought. She was filled with an overwhelming desire to be with the man she had loved for so long,

His mouth moved back to hers, more urgently now, even as his fingers fumbled for the clasp of her bra, trying with obviously unpracticed fingers to separate the fastenings. He groaned with frustration, and she finally had pity on him, reaching behind herself to easily unclasp the bra.

Even as they continued to kiss, Sherlock's hands returned to the front of her body and slid beneath the now loosened bra to place a hand on either breast, caressing them, and Molly let out a low moan. Her body was responding to him, demanding more, and she reached between their bodies to awkwardly work at his shirt buttons, as his hands continued to circle those mounds lightly, reverently.

He paused when she finally managed to slide his shirt apart and put her hands on his chest, feeling it for the first time. She had seen his chest of course, when he had been in hospital after being shot, but she had never dared to hope she would have the chance to feel his beautifully smooth skin with only a sprinkling of hairs on it, and his lightly muscled pectorals.

She almost whimpered with disappointment as he removed his hands from beneath her blouse, and she stilled the movement of her own hands, expecting him to pull away from her, to say he was sorry.

But instead, he raised his hands to clasp either side of her face and look into her eyes. She saw desire in his heavy-lidded expression that matched her own as he said huskily, "Molly, I want you, to be with you, but I've never done this. You make me feel things I've never experienced before." He rested his forehead against hers, and his breathing was ragged. "If we don't stop now, I'm going to end up taking you to my bedroom."

Her heart pounded in her chest with his honest words, and she tried to think clearly. But he was so close, and he smelled so good, and his hands felt so good touching her body, and the touch of his lips was thrilling. Forcing back that tiny voice that said this was wrong, that sex was about more than just physical desire, she drew in a deep breath and then exhaled. Her voice was barely above a whisper as she said, "I don't want you to stop. I want this too." _After all, _she reasoned to herself, _it will be about love and not just sex, at least for me_.

With a low groan, he swept her up into his arms, carrying her easily until he reached his bedroom and laid her on the bed with infinite care. Then he impatiently shrugged out of his shirt even as Molly dispensed with her own blouse and bra. Sherlock resumed kissing her, his chest covered hers, and it felt unbelievably wonderful to feel the warmth of his bare skin pressing against her.

With the decision made and consent received, their movements became more languorous, as they enjoyed the exploration of one another's bodies, discovering together the wonder and passion of coming together for the first time.

And for Molly it was even more than she could have dreamed of, as she gave herself to Sherlock without restraint and he did the same.

Afterwards, she lay in his arms in a blissful euphoria, as her head rested on his shoulder and a hand lay on his chest. She still couldn't quite come to terms with it that she, Molly Hooper, had been the first woman Sherlock had been with intimately, even as he was her first and would be her only. She was a little startled when he kissed her hair and asked somewhat anxiously, "I hope my inexperience didn't show too much."

She huffed out a little laugh before responding. "I have no idea, having nothing to compare it to, but you certainly did everything right in my book."

He stiffened suddenly and put his hand up to her chin to raise it, and he looked at her face searchingly. "What are you telling me, Molly? A few months ago you told me you and Tom were having quite a lot of sex."

She blushed and her own eyes fell before his as she admitted softly, "I lied to you, Sherlock." She swallowed, then forced herself to be honest with him. "The truth is, I never slept with Tom. I've never slept with anybody before you. I was brought up to believe you should abstain from sex until you're married." She bit her lip and darted a glance up at him then, and saw he was frowning.

"You should've told me you were a virgin as well, Molly," he said tersely, and she noticed a muscle in his cheek twitching as he clenched his jaw.

She furrowed her brow in turn. "Why? What difference would it have made?"

He drew in a breath, then exhaled slowly. "You just told me you were brought up to believe in waiting for marriage before you had sex. Now I've compromised you. I would never-" he swallowed, and his hand came to cover hers as it rested on his chest, "_never_," he repeated, before continuing, "have dishonoured you that way, if I knew about it."

Molly couldn't help the small gurgle of laughter that escaped her lips. "You sound like some sort of mediaeval knight, talking like that. "I'm a big girl, Sherlock. I can make my own decisions, and I made this one freely. I...wanted to be with you as much as you wanted to be with me."

"Nevertheless–" he began, but she silenced him, raising a finger to his lips.

"I have a confession to make, Sherlock. This wasn't just about sex for me. I understand that it probably was for you. I know that men have an easier time separating sex and love than women typically do." She raised herself on one elbow to look directly into his eyes, needing him to know. "I wanted to be with you because I love you, pure and simple. I don't expect you to love me in return, but I know you do care about me. I understand that undue sentiment is not in your nature and I can accept that, but as long as you want me, I will be here for you, in every way."

Sherlock blinked at her somewhat uncomprehendingly, then pressed his lips together, as if thinking about her words. His gaze became unfocussed, and she had a feeling he was going into what John called "buffering mode."

She continued to study his face, memorising every beautiful inch of it, the way his hair curled over his forehead in that adorable manner, the aristocratic set of his cheekbones, the sensual curve of his generously full lips. She had never dared to look at him so intently, and it was a revelation to discover how much she found physically attractive about him. And yet, there was an attraction beyond the physical for her. She admired his intellect, his dedication to his work. She saw him in a way most people couldn't, and he had revealed himself to her, opened up to her at a much deeper level than to other people. She did not know if he would ever be capable of truly loving another human being in a romantic way, but she knew he cared deeply about his friendships. In fact, she reflected, he had said he loved John during his and Mary's wedding reception, but it was a friendship type of love, not a romantic one.

Finally, Sherlock's incomparable eyes focussed once more on her, and he spoke. "You're right Molly. I do care about you, deeply. But I am not certain whether I'm capable of the love you see between couples like John and Mary. I do know that I desire you physically, and well, I'm hoping we can do this again because it was actually quite delightful, but if you were hoping for some kind of future commitment from me-"

"Sherlock," she interrupted reaching a hand to brush at one of the curls on his forehead. "I already told you, I'm not asking for anything from you beyond what you are prepared to give. I can love you enough for both of us, and like I said, as long as you want me, I'm yours."

His lips quirked a little as he asked, trailing a hand possessively now along the side of her body, "So, friends with benefits then?"

She blushed slightly, rather surprised he was familiar with the term. "To all intents and purposes for you at least, yes."

He flipped onto his side suddenly and his hand began to wander further along her body as he raised an eyebrow and gave her a seductive glance. "Do you think you'd be ready to share some of those _benefits _again right now?" He then directed her hand to a certain part of his anatomy to demonstrate he was serious and she gasped a little. She hadn't been aware that a man could be ready or able to make love again so quickly, but then again she lacked the practical experience to know that.

She pressed her body closer against his and murmured, "Yes, Sherlock."

And then he began to kiss her again, overwhelming her thoughts with pure sensation and longing and desperation. He was hers, at least for now.

* * *

**Author's note:** Well, the roller coaster ride has begun. So yes, this is a very different path than most of my stories, but I hope you find it a realistic premise. I do feel it is feasible that this would have been a realistic jumping off point for them to embark upon a relationship, with Sherlock coming back from what he thought would be his one way trip, and Molly being so thankful he was back and that she wasn't losing him again.

Take advantage of the review box below to share your thoughts on this. Don't forget those follow/favourite buttons as well if you are intrigued by this story. Reader support is crucial for an author's creative flow! Don't say "Oh, the next reader can leave a review." Be one of those special people who does it themselves.

Next chapter will show Sherlock's side of things.


	3. Friends with Benefits

Sherlock was on a high, not a drug-induced one this time. For several days now, as Molly stayed with him, ostensibly to make sure he did not get back "on the sauce" as his brother would say, they were spending a lot more time exploring this new aspect of the relationship. His withdrawal had actually only been an almost insignificant blip on his personal radar of previous occasions of withdrawal; after all, he had only injected himself twice in a short period. Before that, he had stayed clean since recovering from his gunshot wound months earlier. Of course, Mycroft may have assumed he was still indulging on a semi-regular basis, due to what had happened on the plane, but that had been merely the result of taking too much in too short a period of time.

Sherlock had always scoffed at the idea of men being a slave to their sexual needs, and yet now he had discovered the wonders of it. In fact, he seemed to have replaced his addiction to getting high on drugs with a different kind of addiction. It wasn't even necessarily an addiction to sex. It was an addiction to Molly Hooper.

He found it enthralling to discover a deeper kind of friendship with her, to get to know her and her past before they had met, even as they got to know each other's bodies as well. He couldn't believe what an arse he had been at that Christmas party years earlier, when he had made such a rude comment that alluded to the small nature of her mouth and breasts. Molly's mouth fit perfectly under his when they kissed, and her breasts fit neatly into his hands when he caressed them. They were exquisite.

Sherlock was still feeling that same high of being with Molly in every sense of the word, when he was summoned to a top secret meeting by Mycroft. His brother informed him on the way into the meeting that things had been arranged so that he would not have to answer to any charges in regard to the death of Charles Magnussen, that he was free. That knowledge, coupled with the fact that he couldn't wait to get back to Baker Street to inform Molly of the fact, and his rather obvious excitement about that freedom, as he sent several tweets into the nether of the internet, led to both Lady Smallwood and Sir Edwin making a comment about him being high, even though he had already submitted to a drug test that showed he was clean once again.

In an effort to prove that he was not high, despite his rather odd actions, Sherlock took a handful of his favourite ginger nuts biscuits and spoke to the secretary in the room, named Vivian. He tried to carry on an ordinary conversation with her, to demonstrate that he was in full control of his faculties.

Following that little demonstration, he was treated to security footage of the events from Christmas Day, and saw for himself how it was made to appear he was not the shooter. He really was off the hook, no pardon necessary.

Along with that freedom came the responsibility of discovering what James Moriarty had planned for him post-humously.

As soon as Mycroft dropped Sherlock off, he bounded up the stairs to the flat and swung open the door, calling out, "Molly, where are you? I have news, the _best _news."

He could smell something appetising, probably a stir-fry, judging by the aroma of soy sauce and cooking vegetables emanating from the kitchen, and indeed, Molly appeared, wiping her hands on an apron she had evidently borrowed from Mrs. Hudson. "What is it, Sherlock? What did Mycroft want with you?" She looked at him expectantly, with her hands on her hips.

"I'm off the hook for Magnussen. Top secret government-employed hacker changed the security footage to make it appear I wasn't the one who shot him," he informed her with a smile on his lips and a rather exultant pump of his arm.

She pressed her lips together, and narrowed her eyes slightly at him. "I'm glad for you, Sherlock, but you seem a little _too_ happy right now."

Sherlock folded his arms, feeling his excitement drain away at the expression on her face. "I don't know what you mean. Why shouldn't I be happy? A few days ago I was on a one-way mission that would have led to my death, and now I'm free to do as I please." He strode over to his chair and threw himself down upon it.

Molly followed him, removing her apron before standing in front of his chair and looking down at him."I understand that, but have you dealt with the guilt associated with the man's death?"

He crossed his legs and shifted uneasily in his seat. "Molly, I had a week in solitary confinement to think about the consequences of what I had done. You know I felt there was no other option." His brows drew together slightly as he continued. "You also know the reason I took those drugs, was so that I didn't _have _ to think about things."

She moved closer and perched on the edge of his chair, reaching a hand out to brush gently at the curls on his forehead. "That's exactly what I'm talking about. The drugs were an escape for you." She gave a little sigh and expelled a breath, then cast her gaze downwards. "I'm wondering if we made a mistake, Sherlock. Maybe us being together like this is just another escape for you."

He unfolded his legs and pulled her onto his lap, holding her close. "Don't say that, Molly. Don't say it's been a mistake. I'll admit that this has been a welcome distraction from any other thoughts I might have had about what happened, but I don't regret what has passed between us. And I'm not ready to let you go." He pressed a kiss to her hair and felt her relax against him.

"I'm not ready to let you go either, Sherlock," she responded, almost in a whisper as she slid her arms around his waist. "You know I love you, and I just want what's best for you." He knew Molly loved him, and he still felt slightly guilty that he could not return her affection. She made no secret of it when they were in the bedroom, often expressing words of love to him which he simply could not reciprocate, although he tried to show her by his actions that he cared about her deeply. He just wasn't capable of the kind of selfless love she exhibited towards him. He could give her, in fact, _would_ give her everything of himself except his heart, because he didn't have one of those.

He raised a hand to her face, and traced his thumb gently along her lips, feeling her tremble slightly at his touch. "What's best for me is you, and I need you, Molly. I have a feeling it is going to take some time for me to discover what Moriarty's plan was, and that means I'm going to need to keep busy while I wait for his motives to become clear." He looked deeply into her eyes. "But right now I just want to celebrate my freedom with you."

She removed her hands from his waist to curl them around his neck instead, and he knew she understood. He tilted her chin upwards and leaned into her, kissing her softly at first, then more demandingly, showing her without words how much he needed her. His hands reached for the buttons of her blouse and undid them one by one, until he could push it aside and reach around for the clasp of her bra. He still felt rather clumsy, but he was getting better at it, and he was able to push it up and away from her breasts, so he could explore them with his hands and then his mouth until she was gasping for him.

"Molly," he murmured huskily, raising his head to look at her searchingly. Her pupils were dilated with passion, as he knew his were. "Do you need to take care of anything in the kitchen right now before we continue with this?"

"I...I was just finishing getting a stir-fry ready for us, and was about to boil the water for the rice." Then her lips quirked, even as she blushed a little. "I turned off the stove before I left the kitchen, though, just in case you-"

He didn't let her finish, capturing her lips with his own once more, inhaling the faint cooking smells of frying vegetables along with the strawberry scented shampoo she seemed to favour, having brought her own to Baker Street, rather than use his own shampoo. Her skin still held echoes of a rather intoxicating jasmine vanilla scent from the body wash she used. Lately he was finding everything about Molly Hooper intoxicating.

When their lips parted so they could draw in some air, Molly declared passionately, "I love you so much, Sherlock," as she began to unfasten the buttons on the shirt.

"I know," he responded, knowing it sounded rather inadequate, but he couldn't say the words back to her, after all. "I…care about you also, a great deal," he added, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, then kissing her earlobe, even as he shuddered a little when her fingers successfully finished the task of unbuttoning his shirt and her hands began to run lightly along his chest. Her touch was always exquisite torment and left him wanting more. His body was at the mercy of her ministrations these days.

He slipped a hand beneath her knees and used his other to support her back, then carried her to the bedroom to finish what they had started.

Sherlock laid Molly gently on his bed, looking at the woman who had always mattered the most to him in her rather dishevelled state of dress, or rather, undress. A surge of protectiveness washed over him as she looked up at him trustingly. He didn't ever want to hurt her, although he knew it was inevitable when he eventually grew bored of this experiment of theirs. He didn't want to think about that now, though. He was too caught up in the heady sensation of having her close by, of feeling her body curled close to his at night. It was rather odd, Sherlock thought, he'd always enjoyed having space in his bed where he could move around, but he didn't mind sharing with Molly. In fact, her body acted as a natural heater which was quite pleasant when the bed was cold at night. He rather regretted the idea that she would at some point have to return to her flat and he would go back to sleeping alone.

He suddenly realised Molly was looking up at him in confusion. "What's wrong?"

Sherlock shook his head slightly. "Nothing's wrong." He climbed onto the bed beside her and ran his finger along her exposed curves, feeling her tremble involuntarily in response. He really needed to get that bra off. "Just thinking how beautiful you are when you have been thoroughly kissed by me."

She dimpled at him. "Well then, feel free to continue."

"Don't worry, I intend to," he reassured her. He moved his hands to either sides of her unbuttoned blouse and slid it off her shoulders, kissing each exposed shoulder in turn. Molly had such smooth, kissable shoulders, much like the rest of her body, he reflected. The bra soon followed and he removed his shirt, pressing Molly back onto the mattress so he could kiss her deeply once again. _Such perfect lips._

He stopped kissing her only long enough to divest her of the rest of her clothes and his before covering her body again so he could bury his face in her neck briefly, then kiss it even as Molly drew in a sharp breath. He now knew exactly the right place on her neck to cause that reaction. In fact, he was learning all those erogenous zones even as she was learning his. For the first time, Sherlock was experiencing what it was like to truly please another human being and to be pleased in return. and it was exhilarating.

He inhaled deeply, her scent was a siren call to his inflamed senses and tormented body. Denying himself for the moment, he continued his assault on her own passion heightened nerve endings, providing his own exquisite torment to her sensitive flesh. He loved the sounds of pleasure he could elicit from her so easily, delighted in the way her body responded to his touch. But then again, she also seemed to have the same power over him when her own small hands caressed him delicately. She could drive him to distraction, in fact, she _did_ drive him to distraction.

Finally satisfied with his pre-copulation efforts, judging by Molly's squirming and pleas that he make love to her, Sherlock complied. He marvelled at their synchrony as well, as if their bodies had always been meant for this union. What had once seemed so abhorrent to him was now something he craved. Oh yes, he was definitely addicted to Molly Hooper.

Even as they lay in the contented afterglow, Sherlock suddenly wondered to himself if he would ever get bored of being with Molly intimately, or if this addiction to her would be something from which he would eventually suffer withdrawal. It would have to end at some point, wouldn't it?

Thrusting those troubling thoughts from his mind, he kissed Molly's hair and held her close. Her soft sigh of drowsy contentment made him realise he too was sleepy, so he reasoned a short nap with her was in order. Dinner could wait.

Later that evening, as they were sitting at the kitchen table, a section of which Molly had managed to clear from his various instruments of experimentation, eating the delicious dinner she had cooked, Sherlock was thinking how nice it was to have someone take care of him. He was a little disappointed when she lifted her eyes to him and said, "I really need to be getting back to my flat. You haven't shown any signs of needing to abuse your body further, and I think you'll stay clean now, won't you?" She lifted a brow at him, waiting for his response.

"Yes, I'll stay clean." Sherlock sighed, but he knew she was right. He needed to get back to work and having Molly around on a constant basis was just a temptation to him. He stroked her hand where it rested on the table. "I know you're right, but I will miss you. It has been rather pleasant to have you here whenever I want you."

She pulled her hand away from his as her lips thinned and she said sharply, "I'm not your whore, Sherlock. I will not be at your beck and call anytime you feel like having sex."

Sherlock winced at her words and ran a hand through his hair. "I wasn't implying that I only like having you here for sex. I–" here he flashed her a quick smile, "happen to enjoy your company."

Her gaze softened somewhat. "I enjoy your company too, Sherlock," she said, as a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "But I do need to get back to work, and you need to as well."

A short time later, Sherlock watched as Molly packed her things in preparation for leaving. There was a curious knot in his stomach that he did not understand. It wasn't as if they were saying goodbye forever, he reasoned. They would still see each other, indulge in their sexual desire for one another whenever they felt like it, although they had agreed not to tell John or Mary of their new "arrangement" for different reasons. Sherlock didn't want John knowing his ideas on sex had changed, and Molly didn't want Mary thinking less of her for being in a sexual relationship with no long-term prospects.

As Molly reached the door of the flat, with her bag slung over her shoulder, she turned to Sherlock. "Well, I guess that's it, then. I'll see you at Bart's, or you can text me." She blushed slightly. "To be honest, I'm not really sure how this friends with benefits thing works when you aren't already in close proximity."

"Lacking the practical experience, I am unable to furnish you with that information either," he said with a twist it to his lips. He raised a hand to her cheek. "Goodbye, Molly," he told her and there was a note of, was it - _regret_? in his voice, as he bent to give her one last kiss goodbye. Much as he wanted to continue to kiss her, he was trying to restrain himself, and he released her quickly.

As soon as she was gone, he began to look through his emails and search for new clients and cases to keep him busy while he waited for the "big" one to turn up, the next, unexpected move in a chess game between Moriarty and himself that he thought he had won years earlier.

* * *

**Author's note:** So, as you can see, Sherlock is rather enjoying this new type of "friendship" with Molly. Isn't he an oblivious idiot? But we all knew that already about him. I always find it interesting to write Sherlock's POV because it requires a lot of thought on how he rationalizes things.

Reviews (even critiques) always welcome.


	4. Ups and Downs

**Author's note:** Advance notice of upcoming love scene, so I'd give this chapter a light M-rating.

* * *

Three days after Molly returned to her flat, Sherlock came into the morgue with John to view a body that pertained to a case he was working on, a strangulation that turned out to be the result of the victim's brother doing the deed while under the influence of a heart medication that caused amnesia.

She had made a comment that had helped Sherlock come to his conclusion and he gave her a warm smile. "Thank you, Molly. Now that I know what happened, I just need to explain it to the brother. I should be free this evening if you'd like to stop by." He gave her a meaningful look. "I could use some body parts and perhaps you could join me in my experimentation," he said with a wink and she blushed.

John, who had been writing down something on his notepad, looked up and gave Sherlock a strange look. Obviously, he thought it odd that Sherlock was inviting her to join him in doing his experiments, but not enough to make a comment.

"I'm sorry," she said regretfully, knowing exactly what Sherlock's intentions really were. She had just begun her period so any "body experimentation" would be out of the question. "I don't have any body parts available for you right now."

"Fine," he said dismissively, although she could see his face darken somewhat as if he suspected she was deliberately playing hard-to-get. "Another time, then."

The next few days passed with no further contact with Sherlock and Molly wondered if he was angry with her for rebuffing his advances. She considered texting him to explain she was on her period, but felt too embarrassed to do so. She found she _missed_ him. Several times too she was tempted to text him to ask if he would like to come over for dinner just so she could see him, but he would probably think the dinner would be a prelude to sexual activity, as would be expected with their whole "friends with benefits" arrangement so she decided it would be best to at least wait until the current part of her monthly cycle was over. For all she knew, Sherlock might have already decided that she had changed her mind on things, after all. Molly also realised that if they did continue their sexual relationship, the subject of birth control would need to be discussed.

At the end of the week, when Molly had almost convinced herself that Sherlock had decided he didn't want things between them to continue because she had rejected him, she went to visit Mary and see how she was doing. Mary complained to her about barely seeing John over the past week as well because Sherlock was always dragging him out on one case or another, and the rest of the time John was at work at the clinic.

A sense of relief washed over Molly at that news. If the reason for Sherlock's silence was just because he was so busy, perhaps this relationship wasn't doomed to end barely before it had begun, after all.

Two more days passed and finally a text came from Sherlock in the evening. Biting her lip and heart pounding, wondering if Sherlock was going to ask her over, she looked at it. But it was not at all what she expected.

"I'm in John's car with Mary. She's in labour and screaming bloody murder. Might have something to do about the fifty-nine missed calls while John and I were out on a case."

Molly rolled her eyes at that. But Mary's baby was not due for another four weeks, so Molly supposed it wasn't surprising that John hadn't been concerned about checking his phone for messages. She bit her lip, wondering if she should head to the hospital, but decided it would be better to wait for more news, so she shot off a response to Sherlock.

"Let me know when the baby arrives and I'll come down to the hospital to visit."

She said a silent prayer that everything would be okay with mother and baby. Fortunately it was Friday night and she had finished work for the day, so it was just a matter of waiting to hear news.

Two hours later, Molly had just put the kettle on to make herself a cup of tea, and was contemplating whether to try texting Sherlock again, when she heard a knock at her front door.

Upon opening it she discovered a rather dishevelled looking Sherlock on the threshold, looking a little worse for wear with a panicked expression on his face.

Without even waiting for her to invite him in, he pushed her aside and unbuttoned his coat, tossing it unceremoniously over an armchair, then flung himself onto her sofa and expelled a deep breath.

Molly stepped towards him and looked down at his face anxiously. "What happened? Is Mary okay? Is the baby okay?" She fired off the questions in rapid succession.

Sherlock raked a hand through his hair causing it to look even more unruly. "Mary is fine, the baby is fine, but _I_ may never recover."

Molly stared at him, brow furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He closed his eyes briefly then looked back up at her with that same rather panicked expression. "She didn't make it to the hospital. We had to pull over and I had to listen to her scream as she gave birth right in front of me." There was a note of horror in his voice even as he shuddered at the memory.

Molly had to suppress a smile. She could well imagine how traumatised Sherlock would have been seeing something like that. "I'm assuming John is the one who delivered the baby, right?"

"Well, yes," Sherlock admitted, "but it was bad enough seeing that baby appear like magic from between her legs. My God, Molly, how do you women possibly get something that big out of such a small opening?" Sherlock's face was drawn and quite pale.

Molly seated herself beside him and patted his hand. "Having not had a baby myself, I can't say for certain what it is like, but a woman's body is wonderfully made to stretch to accommodate something that would otherwise seem impossible." Here she blushed a little as she added, "I got to experience that for myself at least a little, a couple weeks ago."

He blinked, then looked at her properly. "I didn't even think of that," he said slowly. "I mean, you didn't even tell me you were a virgin, so I wasn't being particularly careful." He flushed, looking suddenly ashamed. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" His hand turned over to link his fingers with hers as it still rested on his.

Her lips twitched a little at the memory of their initial encounter. It had certainly been a strange sensation, to experience the intimate embrace of a man for the first time, but it had not hurt. In fact, it had felt rather wonderful, being joined with the man she loved that way. Despite his words about not being careful, Sherlock _had_ been gentle, and that was probably because he too had been unsure of himself, being his first time as well. It had been as if their bodies had been created for one another by God. A little twinge of guilt suddenly tickled her senses.

_Why shouldn't I enjoy intimacy with the man I love?_ she thought rebelliously and refused to acknowledge that niggle, choosing to answer Sherlock's question instead of dwell on what God would think about her behaviour. "You didn't hurt me, Sherlock," she assured him. "Every time we've been together has been better than the last."

He frowned slightly and looked at her searchingly. "If that's the case, why did you turn me down last week? I mean, I couldn't come right out and say I wanted you with John in the room, but I thought my intention was fairly obvious to you at least."

"I...I wanted to say yes, but being with you that way would have not have been very, uh, likely due to the time of month for me."

He looked confused for a moment, then his expression cleared. "Ah, I presume by that you were on your menstrual cycle?"

Molly blushed and nodded.

"So, um, that part of your cycle is over now?"

Molly nodded again.

Sherlock's gaze flickered then and his expression changed. He licked his lips. "I don't suppose you would be interested in helping me get over the trauma of what I just experienced?" He raised a questioning brow at her and he shifted his position so that his knee brushed hers.

She could feel her heart begin to pound at his nearness, his touch, but she swallowed and forced herself to say, "What about Mary and the baby? Are they in hospital now? I should go and visit."

He bent a little closer towards her, his lips hovering only inches from hers. "Yes, they are in a private room and John is with them. Everything's fine. If you like, we can go and visit later, but for now-"

He closed the rest of the distance between them and his lips were on hers, and he kissed her fiercely, hungrily, in the way of a man who has been starved of affection and touch for too long.

Molly let out a little sigh of surrender and clasped her hands around his neck, thrilling at his touch, understanding how much she too had missed this over the past week. Mentally, she took note of the fact that conceiving a baby immediately after her period had finished was highly unlikely, so there was no pressing need for that talk about birth control. She knew though she should tell Sherlock they didn't have time for this, that she should go immediately to visit Mary, but part of her reasoned that John would probably want to spend some time alone with his wife and daughter first. But was it indeed a daughter? They had had a scan, but scans were not always accurate.

She pulled her lips away from Sherlock to ask, "Is it a girl, and if so, have they named her?"

Sherlock frowned at her. "Can we discuss this later, Molly? I'm rather busy at the moment trying to seduce you." He gazed at her through half lowered lashes, reaching an arm beneath her knees to pull her onto his lap fully. She was finding it hard to breathe, to remember what it was she had just asked, as he began to kiss her neck.

She gasped at the sensation of his lips, then struggled to remember. "Sherlock!" She panted slightly. "Girl?" Her chest was rising and falling rapidly as his long, sensitively-shaped fingers moved towards the buttons of her blouse. "Name?"

He stopped his movement and scowled. "For God's sake, Molly. Yes, it's a girl, no name yet. Now will you let me do this or not?" His hand brushed at her breast through the fabric of her blouse.

She moved her hands from around his neck towards the button of his suit jacket. John and Mary and their baby girl could wait. For now she had rather more urgent matters to attend to. "Yes," she breathed.

And then he was kissing her again, with those full, sensual lips that caused tongues of flame to dance within her, igniting her senses as they worked at each other's buttons, wanting to be closer, ever closer.

His lips were blazing a trail down her throat to her breasts, lavishing them with his mouth until she was arching into him and whimpering.

And when there were no more clothes separating them, they made love right there on the sofa, unable or unwilling to take the time that would've been required to go to the bedroom, and it was wild and wanton and wonderful. Sherlock evoked such a passionate response within her and she loved him desperately, wishing with all her heart he loved her back, even though she knew it was a futile hope. But at least she had now, this moment, and surely that was better than nothing?

They rode and crested the waves of ecstasy together, clinging to one another, and afterwards they remained together, still facing each other and kissing sporadically as their breathing calmed once again.

Molly rested her head against Sherlock's chest, feeling his heartbeat slowly return to normal, even as he kissed her hair and held her closely, his hands splayed along her bare back. She felt loved and cherished, even though she knew it was an illusion. Yes, it was good to know that Sherlock desired her physically, but would that always be enough? What would happen when he tired of her? She did not want to think about that day. She blinked back the tears that suddenly formed in her eyes. She was _not_ going to think about that right now. She also refused to listen to the little voice inside her that continued to tell her this was _wrong_.

At last they separated and dressed again. Sherlock slid his glance over her as he re-fastened his suit jacket button. "You should probably put your hairband in again." A smile played about his lips. "Your hair looks slightly, er, less than neat."

Molly frowned and put her hands on her hips. "If you wouldn't insist on pulling it out of my hair every time we do this, my hair wouldn't get in this state." He merely smirked and watched as she hunted in front of the sofa and finally found the hairband beside the coffee table where Sherlock had tossed it. Despite her words, secretly she really enjoyed the way he liked to play with her hair, stroking his fingers along it as they made love.

He continued to watch, even as Molly tried to smooth her hair and put it back into the ponytail. "I like your hair down; it frames your face in a rather becoming manner."

Molly blushed. Was Sherlock Holmes actually paying her a compliment? He probably didn't consider it that. To him it was most likely just an observation. Nevertheless, her heart lifted, just a little. A tiny seed of hope was formed that maybe there was at least a _chance_ that he might learn to love her.

Without even discussing it, they left the flat, and Sherlock hailed a taxi to take them to the hospital. Molly had not been entirely certain he would wish to go with her, but she was pleased that he did, although she did not express it.

Sherlock directed Molly to Mary's room and they walked in together, earning a slight look of surprise from John and a weary smile from Mary.

"Congratulations!" exclaimed Molly, with a bright smile at her friends, setting her handbag on the floor.

"Didn't expect to see you back so soon," commented John to Sherlock, as Molly made her way to the bed and gazed at the sleeping infant in Mary's arms.

"Thought I'd let Molly know about the baby and direct her to the right room," was Sherlock's casual response.

"May I hold her?" asked Molly hesitantly extending her arms towards the baby.

"Of course you can," responded Mary with a gentle, motherly smile, releasing the little bundle into Molly's waiting arms.

Molly looked at the infant and very gently stroked the tiny cheek with her thumb. The only part of the baby visible was her rather red little face, as her head was securely covered in a tiny beanie and her body was swaddled in a blanket. Molly's heart swelled with longing as she gazed into the infant's face.

She barely noticed as Mary commented, "You were born to be a mother, Molly," but she started slightly when Mary added, "don't you agree, Sherlock?"

Molly's eyes flew up to dart a glance at first at Mary, who had a slight smirk on her face, and then Sherlock who looked a little uncomfortable.

He ran a rather distracted hand through his hair. "Ah, yes, I suppose so," he mumbled. "Babies, not my area." His eyes drifted to Molly's, then the baby, and finally the floor.

Molly felt colour rushing to her face. She pinched her lips together and looked at Mary who was still smirking. It was so obvious that Mary was trying to push Sherlock and herself together, although she had no idea they were already _together_, in a sense.

Returning the baby to the safety of her mother's arms, she leaned in close and whispered in her friend's ear, "Please don't, Mary."

Mary's eyes widened slightly, but she gave a brief nod to show she understood. Nevertheless, Molly couldn't help but stare at Sherlock and think of how utterly amazing it would be to have a baby - _his_ baby.

His gaze suddenly lifted to meet hers, almost as if he knew what she was thinking, and he frowned slightly. "Ready to go, Molly?" he asked politely, distantly, as if they were casual acquaintances. At the curious glances of his friends, he added quickly, "Didn't you say you had brought home a spare eyeball on which I could experiment?"

"Oh, yes," lied Molly, feeling herself turn slightly pink. She really detested lying. It was one thing to not be revealing the nature of her relationship with Sherlock to Mary, quite another to actively engage in telling untruths. If he were to come back to her place, she supposed tonight would be as good a time as any to discuss taking precautions in the future if they didn't want a baby to be the result. Deep inside though, she half-wished she could just neglect the topic and let the chips fall where they may. But that would not be responsible, nor fair to Sherlock. "Right, then," she said, as she picked up her handbag in preparation to leave. "Congratulations again. Your daughter is beautiful."

Sherlock had already left the room in typical Sherlock fashion, without bothering to say goodbye, and she hurried after him.

Even as they reached the hospital exit and Sherlock went to hail a taxi, Molly decided it was time for a talk about their arrangement and the necessity for taking precautions.

No sooner had they entered the cab and sat when Molly opened her mouth, turning to Sherlock, even as he turned to her.

"We need to talk," came out of both of their mouths at the same time.

* * *

**Author's note:** Trouble in this fool's paradise already? Who would have ever thought? So, what do you think Sherlock wants to talk about? Correct guesses will get a special congrats at the end of the next chapter.

Thanks to one of my regular readers, **comp1mom** for putting forth a thought in her last review about "what happens if one party is in the mood and the other isn't?" That caused me to re-write an early scene where Molly turns Sherlock down although it was not because she wasn't "in the mood" but because it was a certain time of month. I think the end result was better, so thanks!

Readers, don't be afraid to speak up with your own thoughts and opinions - you could see your own name immortalized here if you make a suggestion that I use. At any rate, I want to hear from you to know if you think I'm being true to the characters and situations.


	5. Serious Discussion, Pensive Reflections

**Special note:** Those of you who do not follow my other current story may be wondering why it has been two weeks since I published a chapter on this one. That is not at all typical of me; once or twice a week on each of my two current stories is the usual rate at which I publish. So here is why I've kept you waiting. Twelve days ago my family was shocked by the unexpected loss of my beloved father-in-law. So, in light of that, I have been more concerned with family matters lately and going through this painful time of our lives.

I don't know how many of you have read my profile to know that I am a Christian. If you do know, you might wonder why I have been experiencing the loss so keenly and mourning. I know in my heart that my father-in-law, who was an absolute pillar of our church and involved in almost every ministry possible, has gone home to be with the Lord. He is alive and made whole in heaven. No doubt in my mind about that. However, that doesn't diminish the sense of loss and absence my family has been experiencing. Faith gives us hope to see him again one day, but it doesn't lessen the pain of knowing we will never again see him here. We miss him.

Anyway, that's why it has taken me awhile to update. I'm not expecting anyone who has never left feedback to bother responding this time either. I understand, you're not reading fanfiction to know about me, you're reading to enjoy Sherlock and Molly, after all. You might even just skip the author's notes entirely. But maybe, just maybe, someone will read this note and wonder about what life is all about and what it is that gives Christians hope for life after death. I'm actually currently writing a Sherlock story as well that will deal with loss. When I publish it, I hope you will read it to get an insight into what Christians believe. But for now, back to this story and a rather serious conversation...

* * *

Sherlock stared at Molly in the dim interior of the taxi. His lips compressed into a thin line. What could _she_ have to talk about? Perhaps she wanted to confess that she had told Mary about them. He had noticed the blatant way Mary had been making insinuations about Molly and motherhood. Then he glanced ahead at the cabbie, before shifting his gaze back to Molly who was biting her lip.

"I suggest we wait to discuss this until we get back to your place." At her short nod he added, "and with your permission, I would like to say what I have to say first." She nodded again, and they sat in a rather tense silence for the rest of the taxi ride.

After Sherlock had paid the driver, he followed Molly into her flat and laid his coat over her armchair again as he had done earlier. This time he didn't sit though, feeling he needed his height advantage.

Molly immediately walked over to the kettle and turned it on, pulling out two cups from the cupboard, as if she were trying to keep busy, and she looked over at him nervously.

Sherlock placed his hands on the back of one of her chairs then blew out a breath slowly, before fixing her with a steely gaze. "I thought we had agreed to not reveal private details of our relationship with John or Mary." He couldn't keep the accusatory note from his voice.

Molly stopped fussing with the tea things and walked around the kitchen island to stand next to him. "I haven't told them anything about us," she said, looking up at him and crossing her arms defensively.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Then why did Mary feel it necessary to point out to me what a good mother you would make?"

He could see the tears forming in Molly's eyes before she spoke. "She only said it because she knows that I love you. I…I guess she just wants me to be happy." She blinked rapidly, in an obvious effort to prevent the tears from falling.

Sherlock felt some of his anger dissipating. "And when did this confession of love come about?"

Molly pulled out a chair and settled into it, resting her elbows on the table and putting her chin in her hands. She didn't look at him when she spoke, instead keeping her gaze fixed on the table. "At the airfield, after you had just left, she guessed, and I confirmed it." Her voice was dull, lifeless.

A wave of guilt washed over Sherlock then. Molly had not betrayed him after all, and he should have known that. He released his hold on the chair in front of him and stepped to Molly, settling a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions. Forgive me." His voice was soft, sincere.

She looked back at him, brushing away tears with the heel of her hand. "I forgive you. I'll always forgive you. But you have to understand it hurts when you jump to conclusions like that. I kept your secret for over two years, Sherlock. If I could keep a big one like that, what makes you think I would be so quick to tell anyone about us?"

Sherlock felt ashamed of himself. She was right. In all the time he had known Molly, she had never lied to him, nor betrayed his confidence in any way. But still, she had said they needed to talk as well, so what was that all about?

"You're right," he agreed, sliding his frame into the chair closest to hers. "So, you said we needed to talk as well. Why don't you tell me what you wanted to talk about now?"

The kettle clicked off at that moment. "Let me just make us some tea, and then I'll tell you." Molly rose from her chair and walked over to it, then prepared two cups of tea for them.

She set one down in front of him and then took up her own cup, blowing on it and taking a sip before speaking, her eyes still fixed on her tea. "I wanted to talk to you about-" Then she stopped, and darted a glance at him before looking back at her cup. "Actually, perhaps the whole thing is moot now."

Sherlock frowned. "Tell me anyway."

"Birth control," she mumbled, and Sherlock's brows lifted in surprise. Had he heard her correctly?

"Did you say birth control?" At her nod a sudden panicked feeling rose within him. "I assume you're on it, aren't you? Don't you women take those little pills every day?" His hand trembled slightly as he lifted his tea cup to his lips and took a sip.

Molly pursed her lips. "No, I am _not_ on birth control, Sherlock. Why on earth would I have been on it when I wasn't planning on having sex until I got married?"

Sherlock set his cup down carefully, trying to quell the fear inside himself. "Are you saying, I mean, did you want to talk with me because you're-" here, he hesitated, then he drew a deep breath and let it out before swallowing and saying the word, "pregnant?" He couldn't be a father. He wasn't equipped for that sort of thing.

Molly stared at him wide-eyed, then said hastily, "No, Sherlock. I'm not pregnant."

Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God. As I said earlier, babies are not my area."

Molly gave him a sad sort of smile. "I'm aware of that. I've already come to terms with the fact that I'm never going to be a mother." She took another sip of her tea before continuing, keeping her eyes once again on the liquid rather than looking at him. "I know my cycle, and I know the times we have been together thus far have not been times when I would be likely to get pregnant."

Sherlock pressed his lips together. "Are you including earlier today in that?"

Molly lifted her eyes to his. "Yes. I just finished my period two days ago."

Sherlock's fingers twitched a little. It still felt odd to discuss women's cycles and the like, although he had managed to act casual about it earlier when she had told him about her reason for turning him down the previous week. Having never been in a sexual relationship before, he had not deemed it necessary to keep that kind of redundant information in his mind palace. Women had cycles, they menstruated, but he had no clue on the typical length of those cycles, just that some women tended to be moody due to hormonal changes at times. He furrowed his brow. "Okay then, so what are we going to do about that?"

"Well, if you still want to keep doing this-" she began, and Sherlock interrupted.

"Why would you think otherwise? Didn't my actions earlier prove that I still want to be with you?"

Molly blushed. "Well, I thought maybe it would all be too much trouble for you; and besides, you were angry with me."

Sherlock frowned. "It was a misunderstanding, and I apologised. So what do you propose we do?" He raised an eyebrow at her.

Molly pursed her lips. "Well, if you want to keep doing this, you are going to need to take some responsibility. I do not wish to go on birth control and deal with the potential side-effects, and besides, it can take some time before it would be effective."

"I suppose that means you expect me to go out and buy condoms?" He kept a neutral expression on his face, although the thought of walking into a chemist and cruising the contraceptives aisle was not something he particularly cared to do. However, if it meant the difference between him being with Molly or not being with her, he would do it. He'd just put on a beanie and dark sunglasses to disguise himself; perhaps add a moustache. After all, he couldn't be seen as himself buying condoms, people would talk. _Just remember to pay with cash, not credit card,_ he told himself.

Molly bit her lip and nodded.

"Very well," he huffed. He would do his part. He glanced at his watch. She had said she was not fertile right now and it wasn't overly late. She was also looking ridiculously adorable and vulnerable with her tear stained face and his body was reacting to that. "Well-" he began, reaching a hand to slide his thumb along her lower lip. "I don't suppose you would be willing to indulge once more before I return to Baker Street?"

She visibly swallowed, then licked her lips. "I think I could be persuaded," she finally said, and Sherlock smiled.

Within a few minutes, they were kissing ardently as they worked to remove one another's restrictive clothes. This time they used the much more comfortable bed, and it was extremely satisfying. He still didn't understand this constant ache he felt to be with her. It consumed him in a way he had never experienced in the past. He supposed eventually it would go away and things would get easier, but for now he had every intention of enjoying it and her.

He still felt rather guilty though, remembering Molly's words about how she had come to terms with the fact that she would never be a mother. He had observed the longing on her face as she gazed at Mary's baby, and it saddened him. He knew that Molly would be a good mother. She was compassionate, caring and so selfless. She'd be the best kind of mother, devoted to her children.

Even as she lay in his arms afterwards, he felt the need to ask, "Are you really content with the idea of never experiencing motherhood for yourself? Are you sure you don't want to find someone who would be willing to father your children?"

Molly sighed a little and snuggled closer to him. "I already had that opportunity, remember? I could've had the family if I had stayed with Tom, and I realised my desire to be a mother was not as strong as my love for you." She pressed a kiss to his chest. "I never expected to even have the opportunity to be with you this way, so I'm content."

He could hear the sincerity in her voice and his arms tightened around her, although he still felt that nagging sense of guilt deep down inside.

The following day, Sherlock found himself absorbed in a new case, well, _cases _really. Thoughts of Molly were pushed to the side and he only saw her briefly on the day when John and Mary asked her, Mrs. Hudson and himself to be godparents.

He was rather busy on his phone at the time working on his latest case, but he agreed to think about it. He knew Molly would undoubtedly be thrilled to be a godmother, especially as she would not be having any children with him. Despite himself, he couldn't help noticing how beautiful Molly was, and how comfortable she looked holding the baby.

They continued to see one another secretly, and he had made that awkward, successfully disguised visit to the chemist to ensure there would be no accidental pregnancy. The discomfort of purchasing those condoms was worth it for him to experience the continuing delights of Molly's sweet body, which enthralled him just as much, if not more, on each occasion they were together. He began to have an uneasy feeling that weaning himself off this addiction to Molly might be more difficult than he had expected.

He finally discovered the name of the Watson offspring at the actual christening - Rosamund. Molly was the one to inform him it meant "rose of the world". Again, she looked ridiculously beautiful, he thought, even as he felt a little annoyed by the familiar way she was acting with him. It was almost as if they were an old married couple, the way she told him off for using his phone, although he supposed he deserved it.

Sherlock again found it a little disconcerting that he wasn't getting over his physical desire for Molly. Every time he saw her, he pictured her in his arms, naked. Every night they spent together would end that way too. Most of the time he would be at Molly's flat, rather than at Baker Street, not wanting to arouse the suspicion of Mrs. Hudson, but he rather thought the elderly woman was getting a little suspicious anyway at the frequency of Molly visiting to deliver body parts for him lately, although she said nothing.

Finally, a case came his way which he was certain was the one he had been waiting for from Moriarty. Unfortunately, this turned out to not be true. Instead, it had everything to do with Mary and her past, and instead of facing it, she decided to leave behind her husband and daughter once Sherlock confronted her about it. It was very fortunate that he had suspected she might run, and he was ready for it.

He carefully tracked Mary's progress to varying parts of the northern hemisphere with a tracer placed on the memory stick she had swiped, until she stopped moving.

On the day that happened, he sent a text to Molly. "Emergency. John and I need you to take care of Rosie for a couple of days while we head out of town. Mary has left London unexpectedly and we need to retrieve her."

Molly's response came within a half hour.

"I'll be there as soon as I am done with work. Mike approved my request for the next two days off."

"Book the flights now, while I head to Baker Street to pack and then I'll be back," ordered Sherlock to John who made the arrangements while he took a taxi home and threw a few things into a bag he could carry onto the plane without needing to check any baggage.

He was back at John's within and hour and a half, and John was also ready to go when Molly arrived.

While John was in the other room saying a fond farewell to his daughter, who was taking a nap, Sherlock did the same to Molly. He walked to her, bent his head and placed a hand to caress the soft skin at the back of her neck, exposed as usual because of her customary ponytail. He gave her a farewell lingering kiss of possession that would have to suffice until his return. It was a bit of a risk, kissing her when John was in the next room, but he simply couldn't help himself. He just couldn't leave without a proper goodbye.

"Be safe, Sherlock," she whispered, when their lips parted.

"Simple retrieval, Molly, no big deal," he informed her easily, reflecting that it would be much more entertaining to have Molly with him than John on the journey. A little kissing high above the clouds would be an interesting experiment.

She bit her lip. "I'll miss you."

Sherlock's lips tilted upwards in amusement. "It's just a couple days. Hardly an extended absence." Even as he said the words, he had a feeling he would miss her as well.

He would have ventured one last kiss, but he heard the sound of John walking back towards the main room. Instead, he stepped away from Molly so it wouldn't look like they had been standing so close and said in a voice he knew John would overhear, "Thanks for being flexible, Molly. Take good care of our goddaughter while we're gone, won't you?"

John came up to stand beside him, holding Rosie who had obviously woken from her nap and was now alert and bright-eyed.

"Yeah, thanks, Molly, you're the best." John handed the infant over to Molly. Sherlock saw the glow on Molly's face as the child went willingly to her and he thought uneasily again about her decision to be with him rather than a man who wanted a family.

_But that was her decision, _he told himself firmly_. You made yourself completely clear about your feelings on parenthood._

Sherlock and John were no sooner in the air when John began to prattle on and on about Rosie, how she had begun to smile when he would make funny noises to her, how her eyes followed him everywhere when he was doing something in the same room as her, how perfect her little fingers and toes were. It was so _boring_, all this talk about another person's infant.

"Yes, yes," he said finally, to shut his friend up, "young Watson is a fine baby. I must go into my mind palace now to determine how we shall proceed with the retrieval of your wife."

Deliberately, he closed his eyes as if he were were about to do that but instead he day-dreamed about his lover. _My lover_. His lips curled slightly into a smirk as he wondered what John would think about that, not that he ever planned to divulge the information. John must not know he could be held captive by the temptations of the flesh. It would make him seem too weak, _human_.

Despite himself, Sherlock thought about Molly and the way her hair fell around her shoulders, soft to the touch, when he would release it from its ponytail or braid. He loved running his fingers through its silkiness, and inhaling the smell of her strawberry scent that clung to the strands. Those warm chocolate eyes glazed with passion were beautiful, too. Her skin was so soft, those curves perfection itself, and the way she made little sounds of pleasure..

He jerked back to himself and shifted uncomfortably in his narrow plane seat, aware that fantasising about Molly when he was not in a position to do anything to indulge those desires, was a very bad idea.

Not understanding the reason for Sherlock's restless movement, John commented, "I expect these seats are very uncomfortable with your long legs, mate; sorry I couldn't afford better ones than coach. I was lucky to get even these ones. Couldn't even get a direct flight at such short notice."

Sherlock gave a short nod of acknowledgment. "I'm used to discomfort." And he certainly was, he thought with a twist to his lips, thinking back to those nights after Molly had left the flat and he had returned to sleeping alone in a bed which suddenly felt empty without her presence.

_Enough! _he told himself sternly. Resolutely, he locked the door to the room of his mind palace in which he had placed what seemed to be rather a shrine these days to Molly, it was so cluttered with delightful details and memories of her.

He forced himself to turn his attention to the matter currently at hand, as he had proclaimed to John earlier. He had to think about how they would be able to convince Mary to return to London, that he would find a way to protect her, as he had vowed during her and John's wedding reception.

From that time, even during the interminable layover at a foreign airport before their next flight, Sherlock carefully kept away from that locked room of his mind palace and remained focussed on other tasks.

When the men finally arrived in Marrakech, he was ready to bring Mary home.

* * *

**Author's note:** Thanks to those of you who actually put forth an opinion on what Sherlock was planning to talk about with Molly. Although nobody got it exactly right, I enjoyed reading those responses!

So now Sherlock has made it clear he is not interested in being a father. Do you find it interesting that Molly is willing to forgo the experience of motherhood due to her love for Sherlock? I have to admit, I'm glad my husband didn't feel the way Sherlock does!


	6. Conflicting Emotions

After John and Sherlock had gone, Molly pressed two fingers to her lips and closed her eyes briefly, thinking about Sherlock's parting kiss. He could be so tender at times that her romantic heart could almost believe he loved her after all. The sound of Rosie crying drew her out of her reverie, and she concentrated on the task of looking after the infant.

Over the next two days, Molly found that looking after Rosie was a double-edged sword. The more time she spent with the baby, the more her heart longed for the chance to be a mother herself. But she had made her choice. She had chosen Sherlock over the opportunity of a stable family life and children with Tom. Even though she felt no regrets about that decision, she knew that this ache for a child of her own would always be there. Eventually she would come to terms with it, she hoped.

When John and Sherlock returned with Mary in tow, Molly was both disappointed and relieved to go back to her normal routine. But that normal routine didn't last long. Sherlock had explained to Molly that his current case involved Mary and her past, and that was one of the reasons she had left London, to protect her husband and daughter, but he had not enlightened Molly with the details.

It was with some surprise then, that only a day after Mary's return, Molly received a text from John, asking if she could babysit Rosie again, and that it was very important.

And then, Molly's world turned upside down. Mary was dead, victim of a gunshot wound. John refused to tell her what happened, but for some reason he blamed Sherlock.

The next few days passed in a blur as arrangements were made and Mary was laid to rest. Molly tried to be there for John and Rosie, offering her services whenever needed as a babysitter. She hadn't spoken with Sherlock since the day he had returned to London with John and Mary, and the look of sorrow in his eyes hurt her. She wanted to comfort him, but she had to be there for John and the baby. He was completely devastated, of course.

It was the day after the funeral when Molly next saw Sherlock when he turned up at John's flat. John had told her in no uncertain terms that he didn't want to have anything to do with the detective, and he had given her a note, on the off-chance that Sherlock would unexpectedly turn up.

It broke her heart to see Sherlock and to not put her arms around him and hold him after she delivered the news.

It was with some surprise, when Molly returned home that evening after John took over the care of his daughter following his workday, that she discovered Sherlock sitting on her sofa with his head in his hands. She had always told him he was welcome to come over anytime, and had even given him a spare key should he need it, but this was the first time he had availed himself of the offer.

His coat was thrown over the armchair as usual, and as soon as she had hung up her own jacket and put her handbag on the table, she walked towards him.

"Sherlock?" she said hesitantly, perching on the edge of the sofa and putting a gentle hand on his knee.

He lifted his head from his hands and looked at her, and she could see his eyes were red-rimmed. His voice was broken as he said, "It's all my fault that she's dead."

"Tell me what happened," she said gently, and he took a deep, shuddering breath.

He explained about the case he had been working on, that he had discovered a woman named Vivian Norbury had been a traitor, that the case pertained to Mary and her past. Molly didn't really understand everything Sherlock was telling her, but the one thing she did understand was when he explained how Mary had died.

"I was so cocky, Molly. I listed a string of deductions about the woman when she was holding a gun on me. The police were on their way and she had nowhere to go. I was showing off, Molly, pure and simple." His haunted eyes blurred with tears even as Molly took both of his hands in her own. She didn't interrupt, knowing he had to finish his story. "And Mary...I think she knew I'd gone too far. And when I held out my hand for the gun, as Mycroft and Lestrade arrived, telling Norbury there was no way out, she decided to shoot me instead."

Molly's hands clutched Sherlock's convulsively, as he continued. "Mary jumped in front of the bullet. She died to save me, Molly. It's all my fault that she's dead, and I don't blame John one bit for hating me. I killed his wife." His voice choked up as the tears began to flow down his cheeks.

Molly's own tears fell as well, tears of pain and loss, and hurt. She understood Sherlock's sense of guilt, but she also realised Mary had made the decision to take the bullet for him.

She let go of Sherlock's hands and pulled his head towards her chest, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, as his chest heaved with sobs. She held him, one hand around his waist, the other stroking his curls, making soothing noises of comfort until he had finally regained enough control to pull away from her.

"You shouldn't blame yourself, Sherlock," she told him softly, earnestly. "If Mary chose to take that bullet for you, there had to be a reason. You didn't make her do that."

Sherlock swiped a hand across his face. "She...she said she was sorry for shooting me that time and that now she thought it made us even."

Molly looked at him in horror and shock. "_Mary_ was the one who shot you in Magnussen's office? What on earth are you talking about?" Her senses reeled at this new information.

"It was all to do with the Magnussen case, Molly. He was blackmailing her about her past as a freelance assassin, and she had gone to his office to kill him. Once she discovered John and I were there together, she shot me and escaped."

"She almost killed you, Sherlock! If you didn't have such a strong will to live, you wouldn't be here today. Your heart stopped on the operating table, remember?" Molly's blood ran cold at the remembrance. How could Mary have done something so horrendous?

"Please, Molly, don't think about that now. Mary wasn't trying to kill me, she could easily have done that, given her former profession. She even called the ambulance before she escaped, to make sure I received attention immediately for the wound."

Molly folded her arms and said tightly, "Well, I guess I understand now why she jumped in front of the bullet. She _owed_ you, Sherlock! You had already almost died at her hands."

"That doesn't make what she did any more justifiable. It was _my_ arrogance that led to Norbury pulling the trigger, Molly," Sherlock said, thrusting a hand through his curls. "I'm responsible for this, and somehow I have to make it right. I have to save John."

Molly looked at him, a little confused. _Save John_? What did John have to do with Mary's death? She supposed Sherlock meant he had to find a way to help John move on. "We'll all be there for John, and Rosie too," she told him, reaching for a tissue from her coffee table and offering it to him.

"You don't understand, Molly. There's something only I have to do. I have to save him."

Sherlock was obviously in shock over the whole thing, so Molly merely nodded and said, "Okay."

She dabbed at her own eyes with a tissue, even as Sherlock did the same, then she took the tissues and threw them in the rubbish bin. When she turned around, she was startled to see that Sherlock had followed her and was standing directly in front of her. He gave her an intense look then raised his hand to her face and caressed it gently. "I know what I have to do now, and you might not see me for a while, but please, Molly - I need you to know that whatever happens, I do care about you."

Again, Molly felt confused. What was he talking about? He made it sound like he was leaving again, the way he had done years earlier, and her lips trembled as she asked, "Are you going away again?"

He shook his head. "No. But I need to…do something now if I want John to forgive me."

She raised her hands to clasp them about his neck. "Whatever it is you're planning, be careful. Don't do anything foolish. I couldn't bear to lose you." A fresh wave of tears spilled from her lashes, and then Sherlock lowered his lips to hers and was kissing her desperately, as if he were about to leave her and didn't know when he would see her again.

His kisses became more urgent, more demanding, and when he began to unfasten the buttons of her blouse, she didn't resist. She had a terrible feeling this might be their last opportunity to be together. This might be their swan song.

And when he carried her off to the bedroom and made love to her in a manner that was as desperate as the way he had kissed her, she tried to commit every moment to memory, knowing it could be the last time.

Afterwards, instead of being snuggled into Sherlock's embrace as usual, she held his head to her chest and stroked his curls until he drifted off to sleep and then she too was able to sleep.

When Molly woke in the morning, he was gone. All that remained to show he had been there was his Belstaff, which for some reason he had left over the armchair.

For two weeks she heard nothing from him. She filled her days with work and babysitting and spent her nights alone in an agony of fear and anticipation because she realised something after the fact. On their last night together, they had not used any contraception, and there could be potential consequences for that, judging from the time in which it had occurred.

She finally heard from Sherlock via a cryptic text, asking her to go to a certain place with an ambulance and bring his coat in two weeks' time. For another week, Molly tried to concentrate on work and more babysitting and more wondering what Sherlock was doing. By the end of the week she knew it was time. The results of the pregnancy test were as she expected, she was pregnant.

She looked at the confirming lines that indicated the positive result and felt conflicting feelings - terror at the very idea of being pregnant with a baby Sherlock was sure to not want, and absolute joy at the same time in being pregnant with a baby she very much wanted.

She knew he would have to be told, and she also knew that whatever happened, she was going to keep the baby. Sherlock could deny paternity and have nothing to do with it, as far as she was concerned. Nobody needed to know he was the father if he didn't want them to know. She would love that baby as much as she loved him. Molly knew that she would have to tell Sherlock as soon as she saw him, and that date was set, just one more week away.

What Molly was not expecting, was to find a high Sherlock when she did finally see him. So, _this_ was what he had been doing since she had seen him last. It was a shock and a disappointment, and she was afraid, terribly afraid, that this time he had gone too far.

She stood in the ambulance staring at him as he sat comfortably on the gurney. "So what did you want to check first, Molly?" he asked brightly.

She pursed her lips and took the blood pressure cuff without answering him, then proceeded to do a full examination, taking note of the extremely high blood pressure and his accelerated heartbeat. She noted the needle marks on both of his arms that showed he had been using drugs frequently. All the signs indicated that his body was shutting down on him, that if he didn't stop soon he would be dead in a matter of weeks.

When she had finished, he raised a brow.

She narrowed her gaze at him accusingly. "So, is this what you were planning in order to get John to forgive you? Did you decide that going back on drugs would make him feel sorry for you?"

Sherlock had the grace to look a little abashed. "Partly, but I really am tracking down a serial killer right now, one named Culverton Smith. If you thought Magnussen was bad, Smith is ten times worse, because he actually kills people and enjoys it, and he chooses his victims randomly."

Molly folded her arms. "And how is killing yourself going to help in catching him?"

Sherlock looked sulky. "I admit I may have gone a little far this time, but I am so close to exposing him, Molly. It's just a matter of time now."

Molly pressed her lips together and swallowed. "You don't have much time left, with the way you're going." She couldn't help the way her lips began to tremble despite herself and tears filled her eyes.

"This is something I have to do, if I ever want John to be my friend again," Sherlock responded, his expression turning suddenly serious.

She sat beside him on the gurney and took his trembling hand. Early signs of withdrawal already, she realised. "I don't want you to die, Sherlock, especially not now." Her gaze locked with his for a moment, then dropped to the floor.

"What's that supposed to mean - _especially not now_?" He raised his free hand to tilt her chin towards him.

She bit her lip nervously, knowing it was time to tell him the truth. "Do you remember our last night together?"

His brow furrowed. "I may be high, but I'd hardly forget something like that." He was looking at her intently now, searching her face.

She dropped her gaze before his. "Well, there is something we _did_ forget." Then she looked back at him.

It took him a few moments to process her words, obviously his brain was not reacting as quickly as it usually did due to the drugs in his system, but finally his eyes widened and she heard the sharp intake of his breath before he asked, "Are you trying to tell me that you're...pregnant?" His grip tightened on her hand, squeezing it painfully and she yelped, snatching it away. "Sorry," he mumbled, as his other hand still rested beneath her chin forcing her to not turn away. "Well?" he insisted.

The colour crept into her cheeks as she answered in a whisper. "Yes."

He released his grasp on her chin, stood abruptly and began to pace the small floor of the ambulance. "How did this happen? I can't be a father. I'm not equipped for that kind of thing," he muttered, almost to himself.

She watched him pace, as she tried to brush away the tears from her face. "Don't worry, you don't have to do anything. I'll take care of things myself. I know you have no interest in children."

He stopped pacing and stared at her. "Take care of things? I presume you are not suggesting an abortion? I may not want to be a father, but nor do I want to be the cause of an innocent child's death."

Molly gave him a shocked look. "Of course I wasn't suggesting that! I would never do that. You already know the values I was raised with, and they extend to the sanctity of life as well. I just meant you don't need to have anything to do with the baby. I will raise him or her alone. You don't even have to let anyone know you're the father. It can be a secret." She couldn't help the note of bitterness that crept into her voice as she added, "We're good at keeping secrets, aren't we?"

At that moment, the ambulance pulled to a stop. "We'll discuss this some other time - soon," Sherlock told her and there was a grim set to his mouth.

And after the conversation with John, where Molly confirmed that Sherlock's drug usage was indeed not being faked, Sherlock gave her one last smouldering look, and she knew that once his case was finished, they would be having a serious discussion - if indeed he survived that long.

* * *

**Author's note:** Well, a lot went on in this chapter and I sped through the timeline a bit. I hope you like the way I'm trying to stick to canon. Were you expecting Molly to get pregnant? I know, I'm a sucker for the accidental pregnancy trope. How did you find the ambulance conversation? Will Sherlock embrace the idea of fatherhood or continue to resist it?

Your response matters to me. Guest reviews also welcome.


	7. Difficult Conversation and Circumstances

Sherlock had solved the case. Molly was glad that things had come to a head immediately after their talk a couple days earlier. She was a little angry that John head been responsible for putting Sherlock in the hospital bed in the first place, but at least it had led to Smith exposing himself as a serial killer. Now Sherlock just needed to get clean again.

Thank God John had finally got over his issues after Sherlock had almost been killed. She was glad he had asked her to help in watching Sherlock's recovery.

They had been out to a cake shop for a little celebration of Sherlock's birthday, which John had finally discovered. His birthday of course was no secret to Molly. She had been the one to prepare his death certificate after all, years earlier, but she had never made mention of it. Following the visit to the cake shop, Sherlock insisted on stopping by his favourite chip shop to pick up some chips for dinner.

As they ate at a table in the chip shop, they talked together of innocuous things first, ignoring the elephant in the room, and Molly knew Sherlock was just biding his time. Talking about an unplanned pregnancy was not a conversation one would want to have in public. Then Sherlock confided in Molly about the way John had beaten him up and caused the current stitches he sported above an eyebrow. Sherlock was matter-of-fact over the incident, telling her John had been justified in doing what he did, even though Molly strongly protested that violence was never the answer to a conflict.

She couldn't help thinking though of what a good-hearted man Sherlock truly was, so quick to forgive. It was one of the many things she loved about him, even though the rest of the world was not aware of what she saw in him beneath the exterior he presented to others.

"I really should give John a good telling-off," she told Sherlock after he had finished describing the details that had led to him being hospitalised.

Sherlock laid a hand over hers where it rested on the table, and it tingled at his touch. She had missed his touch so much. "Please, don't rock the boat Molly. Our friendship has only just been restored and I don't want to be the cause of any more friction between us, nor between him and you."

Molly pursed her lips but nodded her assent. She had to respect Sherlock's wishes.

As Sherlock opened the outer door of 221B Baker Street a short time later, Mrs. Hudson came hurrying towards him.

"Sherlock!" she exclaimed. "I'll be up later to stay with you overnight. John told me you'll be needing some help after Molly leaves."

"That won't be necessary, Mrs. Hudson," responded Sherlock with a glance at Molly. "Molly did such a good job at taking care of me last time, I think it would be best if she would keep an eye on me this time as well."

Molly opened her mouth in surprise. "But, Sherlock, I didn't bring anything with me for an overnight stay."

He shrugged. "I can provide you with a shirt in which to sleep, and a spare toothbrush. What more do you need?" He pressed his lips together and added, "Besides, we need to talk, remember?"

Mrs. Hudson looked from one to the other and narrowed her eyes slightly. There was a note of suspicion in her voice as she asked, "and this _talk_ requires an overnight stay?"

Molly couldn't help blushing slightly. Did Mrs. Hudson suspect they were more than friends? She had to concede it was entirely possible.

However, Sherlock merely shrugged nonchalantly and said easily, "Poor choice of words, Mrs. Hudson. We're friends, and we haven't really spoken in weeks, things to catch up on, you know."

Mrs. Hudson pursed her lips. She still looked unconvinced, but merely said, "Well, if you're sure then, I'd rather sleep in my own comfy bed anyway." She shot Molly an enquiring glance. "So, you'll stay with him, then?"

Molly sighed and pretended it would be a hardship she didn't really want, although secretly she knew she couldn't turn down this opportunity to spend time with the man she loved. "I suppose so. At least it's Sunday tomorrow so I don't have work, and John said he was coming by at six in the morning, so I guess I can sleep on the sofa." She looked at Sherlock who was smirking, obviously pleased he had been able to get his own way.

Mrs. Hudson nodded and returned to her own flat as Sherlock and Molly headed upstairs.

As soon as they were inside, Molly asked nervously, "Shall I make us a cup of tea?" She looked at Sherlock and saw his lips were compressed in a thin line which did not bode well.

"Not right now," was his terse response as he strode over to the sofa rather than his chair. He sat and then gestured with a jerk of his head for Molly to join him. "Now that I'm in my right mind again, I think we need to have that chat."

Molly bit her lip and walked to the sofa, taking a seat but leaving some distance between them. She folded her hands in her lap primly. "What did you want to talk about?"

Sherlock glowered at her. "The baby of course."

Molly licked her lips nervously. "There's really nothing to talk about, Sherlock. I know this isn't something you wanted, and I already told you that you don't need to have anything to do with the baby."

"God, I could use a fix right now," he muttered almost to himself, and Molly cringed. The last thing she wanted was for him to feel stressed enough to want to return to using again.

She turned towards him. "Please, Sherlock, don't say things like that. I...I understand that this means things are going to change between us. I will try and keep out of your way as much as possible. I don't want to be the cause of you wanting to return to using again." Her lips trembled and she blinked back tears as she spoke the words. Their time together had been brief, but she would always treasure it, and at the very least, she would have a baby to ease her broken heart.

She saw anger in his eyes then as he folded his arms and looked at her accusingly. "Was this your intention all along, Molly? Were you just using me so you could get pregnant, and now that you are, you're just going to dump me like yesterday's newspaper?"

She opened her mouth in horror. How could he possibly think she had planned this? "Of course not, Sherlock! How could you even think that of me?" Tears were now spilling down her cheeks as she continued. "I was the one who said we needed to use protection in the first place. Would I have done that if I was planning to get pregnant?"

Suddenly, he unfolded his arms, put his elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his hands. He spoke in a slightly muffled voice. "I'm sorry. I know you wouldn't do that to me. I just don't know how to cope with this right now."

Much as it hurt, she knew what she needed to say. "I think we need to take a step back. You need time to process things and so do I." She shifted closer and placed her hand gently on his knee. "I'll stay with you tonight, but after that I'm going to speak to John and say I don't have time to be with you right now. You need to concentrate on your recovery and get some perspective, and I need to think about my own future."

He lifted his head from his hands and looked at her. For the first time she saw sadness, resignation. "I suppose you're right. I'm sorry I can't be the man you want me to be, Molly." He raised a hand to brush away her tears with the pad of his thumb. "I _do_ care about you very much, and somehow I will figure out what role I should play in our child's future." He stood then. "I'll get you a shirt now to sleep in, and a blanket for the sofa."

She nodded and closed her eyes wearily. Her heart ached unbearably. This was the end. She felt sure of it. She didn't know whether Sherlock would be comfortable in acknowledging the baby as his or not, but he certainly was not going to want to be with a pregnant woman, even if she was pregnant with his child. She couldn't stop the tears from continuing to fall, even when Sherlock returned, and she opened her eyes to accept the shirt and blanket.

"Thank you." She offered him a wan smile, and he reached for a tissue from the box on the coffee table and handed it to her without comment.

He left her, and soon afterwards she heard the shower running. She undressed and slipped on Sherlock's shirt, inhaling the scent that was uniquely his, a hint of citrus smelling aftershave that persisted in lingering despite the dry cleaning smell. His shirt reached her thighs, just covering her knickers and providing modesty.

When Sherlock exited the shower, he returned to the sitting room and surveyed her, even as she drank in the sight of him. He had not bothered to put on a dressing gown and wore only a pair of satin boxers with the Union Jack printed on them. His hair was damp and curly and she longed to run her fingers through it. He had shaved as well. If not for the fact that his hands still trembled slightly, and that his eyes looked slightly bloodshot, she would have had no idea how close to death he had been just days earlier.

"You fill out my shirt very nicely," he commented, with the hint of a smile, and she brushed at the shirt self-consciously.

"Thank you for letting me borrow it." She ventured a small smile of her own. "I don't suppose you have a spare toothbrush available so I can brush my teeth before bed?"

"I told you I had one, remember? I already got it out for you." He reached a hand towards her, then dropped it and said, "I guess I'll be heading to bed now. I'll see you in the morning."

"Okay. Thank you," she answered and watched him leave the room. When she heard the door of his bedroom closing, Molly headed for the bathroom herself and got ready for bed.

A few minutes later she exited and settled herself onto the sofa, covering herself with the blanket Sherlock had provided.

Exhausted from her tears, and also from the weariness that can occur in the early stages of pregnancy, Molly fell asleep quite quickly.

She blinked her eyes open, suddenly aware that her subconscious had heard something. She turned her head and saw Sherlock approaching her in the near darkness. "I'm so cold, Molly, so cold," he told her and she could hear his teeth chattering and see his hands trembling violently.

She rose from the sofa and walked to him, reaching her hand up to his forehead. He was burning up. She was not surprised. This was a common side effect of withdrawal.

"Go back to bed, Sherlock. I'll bring this blanket in to you and I'll get a flannel to cool your forehead," she told him, rising from the sofa.

"Okay." He walked a little unsteadily back towards his bedroom, and Molly picked up the blanket that had been covering her, then followed him, making a detour into the bathroom. She wet a flannel and headed into the bedroom.

Sherlock was back in bed, curled into a foetal position. His teeth were still chattering and she could see by the movement of the duvet that he was trembling uncontrollably.

Gently she placed the blanket over him, on top of the duvet, and then she leaned forward to place the flannel on his forehead. She was about to leave the room when his voice stopped her. "Please, Molly. Don't go."

"What do you need, Sherlock?" she asked, standing uncertainly at the foot of the bed.

"You," he breathed, and her memory flew back to another time when he had needed her.

He sat up in the bed and extended his arms towards her, and she knew what he needed. She picked up the flannel which had dropped onto the duvet at his sudden movement, and then climbed into the other side of the bed. Satisfied, Sherlock lay back down. "Do you want me to hold you or would you be warmer if you held me?" she asked him, just able to make out his features from the illumination of the alarm clock.

"Let me hold you please," he pleaded, and she quickly placed the flannel back onto his forehead then turned around to scoot herself backwards against his body. He drew her to him, holding her close. She could feel the heat emanating from his body but strangely, it soothed her.

"Better?" she asked, and she felt him press a kiss to her head, even as his arms tightened around her.

Better," he mumbled, and soon she drifted off to sleep, feeling a sense of contentment at being in his arms, even as she realised it might be the last time they would share a bed.

Some time later, she woke to the feel of Sherlock's hands moving along her body, stroking her skin through the shirt she wore.

He was no longer burning up, she could feel that, but she could also feel something else as he pressed his body into hers.

And when Sherlock slid a hand beneath the shirt to cup her breast, she was left in no doubt as to what he wanted.

Her head told her it would be foolish to give in to her selfish desires and be with him again, but her heart betrayed her in her longing as she responded to him. She turned inwards, and his lips captured her own, kissing her sensuously, fanning the flames that were always near the surface when they were this close. Her hands threaded themselves into his curls without conscious thought.

When he reached to tug at her knickers, she did not resist, allowing him to pull them down, before he removed his own boxers. Even as he clasped one hand behind her head so he could continue kissing her, his other hand explored her body. His mind palace was obviously a marvellous thing, because he knew exactly how to drive her wild with need for him.

She couldn't help the moans that escaped her mouth at his touch as ripples of pleasure washed through her, and he silenced her cries with his lips even as his body moved into position to be with her fully.

Every time they made love, she felt as if their bodies had been made for one another, and this time was no exception. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to memorise every detail, the way Sherlock's hair flopped forward as he moved his body over hers as they made love, the way he would pause to kiss her or run a hand along her body lightly. She pretended he loved her as she loved him and it was a mixture of ecstasy and agony.

When he finally collapsed onto her and buried his face in her neck, spent from his exertions, the tears came leaking from her still closed eyes as she wrapped her arms tightly around him and whispered, "I love you."

His face was still buried in her neck as he responded, "I…I care about you so much, Molly."

She pressed her lips together, forcing herself to keep her breathing even and remain silent as she sobbed inwardly. If he couldn't love her now, despite the passion they felt together, despite the fact they had conceived a child together, it was never going to happen. He was right. He had no heart to give her, but he possessed hers in its stead. She released her hold on him and allowed him to move off of her, then she turned her back on him, feeling his arm snake around her and hold her close, possessively. How could she ever let this man go?

Molly did not sleep for the rest of the night. She listened to Sherlock as his breathing became deep and regular. By the time she stopped crying, the pillow was damp with her tears. When she saw it was a quarter to six, Molly rose from the bed silently, hunted the floor of the darkened room for her discarded knickers, put them back on, then retrieved her clothes from the sitting room and dressed. She splashed her face with cold water in the bathroom, and hoped that John would not be able to detect that she had been crying.

She opened the door to John's soft knock precisely at six in the morning. Rosie was with him and she gave the little girl a kiss on the cheek. Inwardly she thought about the tiny life growing within her. No matter the circumstances of the baby's conception, she refused to regret what had happened. The baby was a gift from God she would cherish, no matter what happened between Sherlock and herself.

If John noticed anything amiss, he did not say anything about it. "Hi, Molly, when Mrs. Hudson let me in, she told me you spent the night here in order to watch Sherlock." He gave her an enquiring look, but not a suspicious one, and Molly was glad he did not suspect she and Sherlock had ever been anything more than friends. "How is he doing?"

Molly adopted a casual air. "The usual withdrawal chills. He's sleeping now, and it's probably best to let him sleep as long as possible so his body can recover."

John bounced Rosie on his hip and nodded. "Thanks for watching him, Molly. It really is just a precaution to have someone stay with him, but I didn't want to take any chances on him doing anything so stupid again. Would you be available to take another shift tonight?"

Molly bit her lip and looked down, unable to meet John's gaze, in case he saw the anguish in her eyes. "I'm sorry John. I have work tomorrow and things have been quite busy lately." She gave him a quick glance. "Perhaps Mrs. Hudson can stay with him?"

"Most likely. I'll figure something out. You take care, Molly." John smiled at her and she felt guilty for deceiving him, but she knew she couldn't spend another night with Sherlock. She was too weak where he was concerned and she really needed time to consider things, as she had told him. The only way to do that was to put distance between them. But why did it have to hurt so much?

"I will. Bye John." She gave her goddaughter another peck on the cheek. "Goodbye, Rosie."

When Molly arrived home, she undressed and got into her big, empty bed, planning to spend the day wallowing in self-pity. Unfortunately, she ended up spending most of the day with her head facing the toilet bowl. Her morning sickness had begun.

* * *

**Author's note:** If you have been reading my other current story, you will see that this one is progressing much faster than that one did!

Poor Molly, she is so conflicted with her situation with Sherlock, and don't you want to just beat him upside the head for still being unable to recognize his own love for her?

Do you recognize the Union Jack boxers? Bonus points if you can tell me where else they have made an appearance in my stories LOL.

Please keep filling my email inbox with alerts from your reviews! I can never get enough of hearing from readers! If you are a Christian, become an active part of my ministry here by supporting my work. I am blessed to have some who already do that, but there is always room for more :) If you are not a Christian but still enjoy my work because you can see my writing is intended to inspire and encourage others, your responses are also an important part of my goal to write something meaningful and relatable.


	8. Heartbreaking Admissions and Decisions

Molly heard nothing from Sherlock for several days. She knew he was clean again and seemed to be doing quite well. She had been informed of this by John when she had spent an evening babysitting Rosie for him.

Sherlock didn't text or call, (not that he ever called anyway, except for when he had asked her to meet him at the airfield, months earlier), and she figured he was still trying to sort things out in his own mind on how he would deal with her pregnancy. She had already resigned herself to the fact that he would not be able to cope with a continuing relationship with her when her body would begin displaying the signs of the pregnancy, particularly if he did not wish to acknowledge the baby as his.

And so, it was with a sense of shock that Molly came home from church two weeks later and turned on the television to keep her company while she made herself a sandwich for lunch. The news was on and she picked up a mention of the words 'Baker Street'.

She looked across at the television where she saw footage of a building with blown out windows, and realised to her horror the windows belonged to 221B. Apparently there had been an explosion that morning inside the flat, and a gas leak was suspected. No casualties had been reported, to Molly's relief, but she decided to try and text Sherlock just to make sure he was okay.

When he didn't respond, she tried John, who also didn't reply to her text. In desperation, Molly called Mrs. Hudson who fortunately picked up the phone.

The landlady explained that there had been an explosion inside the flat upstairs. Fortunately the damage had been localised and her own flat was undamaged, except for a couple new cracks in the walls. Apparently John and Mycroft had been visiting at the time.

Mrs. Hudson explained that Mycroft had dashed down the stairs just before the explosion, and that Sherlock and John had jumped out of the windows into some fortuitously placed rubbish skips below. She had watched the men climb out of them herself, completely unharmed.

"Those men certainly have guardian angels watching over them," she commented over the phone to Molly.

"Do you know where they are now? I tried texting them and haven't had any response," Molly enquired, biting her lip nervously as she waited for Mrs. Hudson to respond.

"I'm sorry, dear. I have no idea. I got the impression that the explosion was no accident. I'm sure it was not a gas leak. I expect the boys have gone off on a case to discover how it happened."

Molly thanked Mrs. Hudson for the information and rang off.

Over the next few days she still heard nothing from either Sherlock or John. She guessed they must be deep under cover on the trail of the person who had caused the explosion.

On Saturday, Molly exited the bathroom after her usual bout of morning sickness had caused her to empty the contents of her breakfast into the toilet. She turned on the kettle to make a honey and lemon drink in hopes of settling her nausea, set a lemon onto the counter, then walked to her kitchen window to stare sightlessly outside as she waited for the kettle to boil.

She heard her mobile ring just as the kettle switched off. Molly stood up with a sigh and walked towards the counter. She glanced at her phone. _Sherlock._ Apparently whatever case he had been on, it was over. A little peevishly, she decided to ignore it. He hadn't bothered to even text her after the explosion. She'd call him back when it was convenient for _her_. She cut into the lemon, then reached into the cupboard and brought out some honey, glaring at the still ringing phone. Fortunately it stopped.

She poured water into her cup and was just squeezing the lemon into it when the phone rang again. The only other time he had called twice was on New Year's Day. Apparently this was important enough to merit another attempt, and she decided to take the call after all. Perhaps he was ready to talk to her about the baby and how he wished to proceed. Had he come to terms with being a father?

She grabbed a tea towel and wiped her hands, then walked to her phone and picked it up. She stared at the screen for a moment, then pressed the button to answer.

"Hello Sherlock, have you made any decisions yet about things?" she said immediately before he had a chance to speak.

To her surprise, he didn't even respond to her question, but immediately demanded something from her. "Molly, I just want you to do something very easy for me and not ask why." His voice was soft, controlled. So much for resolving their current situation. What kind of game was he playing at here anyway?

"Sherlock, I really don't have time for your games right now," she said, trying to keep the hurt out of her voice as she opened the jar of honey and poured some into her waiting cup.

"It's not a game. I just need you to help me." Molly furrowed her brow. He didn't sound the way he normally did when he spoke to her but she couldn't put her finger on what seemed off.

"Well go on then," she responded, replacing the lid on the honey with a little more force than was necessary. Everything was all about _her_ helping _him_, never the other way around, but despite herself, she was interested in finding out what he needed _this _time.

"Molly, please, without asking why, just say these words."

She smiled a little. Saying a few words would definitely be easier than having to do some complicated task for him. "What words?"

"I - love - you." He spoke them slowly, deliberately, and her heart plummeted. Of everything he could have asked her to say, why ask her to say something he already knew to be true? Why would he hurt her like this, just so he could come back and tell her he _cared_ about her? Well, not this time. So much for him saying it wasn't a game.

Molly gave a sniff and took the phone away from her ear, speaking into it. "Leave me alone." She was about to disconnect the call when she heard Sherlock's voice again, now sounding quite desperate, which was a first for him.

"Molly no, please no, don't hang up. Do _not _hang up."

Molly hesitated, then put the phone back to her ear. "Why are you doing this to me? Why are you making fun of me?" She could feel angry tears burning in her eyes.

"Please, I swear, you just have to listen to me. This is for a case. It's a sort of experiment." His tone sounded casual at the end, as if it were no big deal.

_Yeah, just like our friends with benefits experiment. So much for that._ The way he was acting made it clear to her that he did not even care about that anymore. He was obviously going to pretend nothing had ever happened between them, and she would be raising their baby alone.

"I'm not an experiment, Sherlock," she told him rather coldly. She wasn't going to let him break her.

"No, I know you're not an experiment. You're my friend – we're friends," he said quickly and she almost snorted derisively at the idea. _Friends indeed._ He continued, "But please, just say those words for me."

She wondered again why on earth he needed to hear something from her he already knew to be true. She had never hid her feelings. But she was not going to bare her soul yet again just to inflate his ego.

"Please don't do this to me. Just _don't _do it," she begged, wishing he would just understand how he was hurting her.

But he persisted anyway. "It's very important. I can't say why, but I promise you it is."

"I can't say that. I can't say that to you." Why wouldn't he just give it up already?

"Of course you can. Why can't you?" She heard the confused sound in his voice and understood why. After all, hadn't she told him over and over that she loved him?

"You know why." _Because I'm tired of telling you I love you and having you respond with how much you _care _about me._

"No, I don't know why." His voice was clipped, anxious, and she wanted to shout at him for bing so cruel.

She sniffed. "Of course you do."

"Please, just say it."

And suddenly, she was done with all this. If he was going to hurt her this way she was going to do the same. She would make him say it first, teach him a lesson to not play with people's feelings.

"_You_ say it."

"What?" He sounded nervous and it pleased her to have turned the tables on him.

"Go on, you say it first." Then she added, wanting to hear those words from his lips just once. That would be enough for her, to carry her through the lonely years ahead. "Say it like you mean it."

There was a pause and then "I-" another brief pause, as she clasped the phone to her ear, followed by words said quickly that she knew were forced out of him. "I love you."

She allowed herself the small victory and smiled.

What she didn't expect was to hear him say the words again, softer, sounding sincere this time, "I love you."

She put the phone away from her face and stared at it in amazement. To hear those words from his lips not once, but twice, was truly miraculous, and she closed her eyes, committing the tone of his voice to memory.

She was brought back to reality by his anguished sounding "Molly?" She held the phone to her lips caressingly, even as he spoke again. "Molly, please!"

_That is the sixth time he has said please, _she thought idly but then realised she had to keep to her side of the bargain. She drew in a deep breath, knowing this was probably the last time she would say the words to him. "I love you."

She heard his sigh of relief before the line went dead.

It was only then that she allowed herself to crumple against the counter, her drink forgotten, and weep, as her chest heaved with the sobs she had struggled to keep at bay during the whole conversation. She cried for Sherlock, for herself and for the baby she would be raising alone. His hanging up on her had been the final humiliation and proof that, despite the tone of his second "I love you", he would not, could not, ever love her in the way she wanted to be loved.

She knew too now that sex was not enough. Without love on both sides, it was something shameful, dirty, and worst of all, a betrayal of the very ideals she had held so dear for so many years. She had made a colossal mistake. The only good thing to come out of it she supposed was the tiny life she was carrying, and she prayed desperately that her baby would not be taken from her as well. The baby was innocent, unlike her.

Molly spent the rest of the day and evening feeling miserable and cursing herself for ever allowing herself to become involved with Sherlock Holmes. She had allowed him to use her, thinking that her love would be enough for both of them, and that he would eventually come to love her if she showered him with enough affection. But no, she had to finally admit that her love would forever remain unrequited.

Feeling in the mood to indulge in some self-pity, Molly searched her phone for the playlist she had always used whenever she felt depressed. The playlist, titled _Unrequited,_ had songs to which she had added over the past several years.

_Hopelessly devoted to you_ had always been a favourite song of hers, but the latest one which she had added certainly seemed the most appropriate now. She listened to the music and mourned for her lost innocence and love.

_Say something, I'm giving up on you._

That phone call had sealed the deal for her. Things were well and truly over between her and Sherlock.

Just before Molly went to sleep that night, she placed her hand on her belly and whispered to her baby. "Don't worry. I will love you enough for two parents, little one. We will manage, just the two of us."

And when Sherlock's text came in to her the next morning, she didn't bother to respond.

_Molly, I need to talk to you. I can explain_.

It was too late for explanations.

The phone rang and she saw it was Sherlock but she didn't answer. This time when it rang a second time she ignored it again.

An hour later, when her text alert chimed once more, she glanced at the message on the screen without going into her messages app.

_Please, Molly, answer your phone. It's not what you think._

Yet again the phone rang and she ignored it, even though her heart thumped painfully in her chest. She had to be strong now. She would never allow Sherlock to manipulate her again.

She was both relieved and disappointed when she received no more texts or calls from him. Apparently he had received her message, or rather the lack thereof, loud and clear.

As the evening approached her resolve weakened and more than once she picked up the phone, wondering if she should let him explain after all. She even began typing a message to him but just before hitting the send button she changed her mind and deleted it. He had hurt her once too often. She just couldn't put herself through it again.

And as she lay in bed that night she wept bitter tears once again at her folly in falling in love and giving her heart to a man who possessed no heart of his own to give to her in return.

* * *

**Author's note:** I know I didn't quite stick to canon for the phone call. But that is because I used part of it for the scene in the first chapter.

So, do you think Molly is justified in ignoring Sherlock and not giving him a chance to explain? Can you see why she wishes to shield her heart from further pain?

So, how do you think things are going to be resolved here? Will Molly weaken and see Sherlock or will Sherlock find a way to see her? Make your deductions, folks, and join in the fun. The review box below is begging for your attention.


	9. Changing the Parameters

It had been several days since Sherlock had tried to contact her. Since then, she had received a short phone call from his brother, explaining that Sherlock had been under duress when he had called her. Mycroft had apologised on Sherlock's behalf and said he was sure that Sherlock would explain everything that had happened at some point, and that he hoped their friendship would not be ruined as a result. He also told Molly to expect the arrival of two men to search her flat for surveillance cameras and remove them, but refused to explain how or why her flat had been under surveillance in the first place, that it was a matter of national security that he was not at liberty to discuss.

The whole conversation was highly unsatisfactory, but when two men had appeared at her door the following day, showing their credentials, Molly had allowed them in. She watched as they searched for and removed three hidden cameras from her kitchen and dining area. She asked them why the cameras had been there but was given the same run-around. She was assured however that her flat was now safe and the situation had been handled.

Despite her dissatisfaction, Molly knew there was nothing she could do. She had to be simply content with the fact that whatever had happened had been dealt with by Mycroft. However, she began to second guess her refusal to speak to Sherlock but knew it was too late to turn back the clock. She had closed the door on any future with him even if he still wanted to be with her after all this. That ship had well and truly sailed.

Earlier in the day today, she had informed Mike Stamford that she was pregnant and that she needed to leave the hospital early for an appointment to hear her baby's heartbeat for the first time. To his credit, her supervisor had raised a brow at her but asked no questions. To all intents and purposes Molly was not in a relationship with anyone, and he probably thought she had gone off to the pub one weekend and had a shag with some random man that resulted in her pregnancy.

Much as it hurt her to think that any of her colleagues might think of her as being the type of person who would do something like that, Molly was determined to not betray Sherlock's confidence. She would be raising the baby alone anyway, so there was no point in saying he was the father.

As Bart's did not offer maternity services, Molly had researched and found that the Elizabeth Garrett Anderson Wing of University College Hospital was the closest maternity hospital, so she headed there for her appointment.

At the hospital Molly taken to a room. Once various things had been checked and the appointment was coming to a close, the midwife assigned to her said, "Are you ready to hear your baby's heartbeat for the first time?"

Molly smiled a little. This was the part she had been looking forward to most. "Definitely."

The midwife, whose name was Laura, instructed her to unfasten her trousers and pull them down enough so that she could apply the gel before using the Doppler monitor on Molly's abdomen. She was just about to squeeze the gel on Molly's belly when a knock sounded at the door.

Laura looked apologetically at Molly. "I'll just see what the nurse wants and then we will get right back to it."

Molly nodded as the other woman walked to the door and opened it.

"Hello Janet, what's–" she stopped abruptly and Molly turned her head and gasped. There was no nurse at the door. It was Sherlock.

"Good afternoon," he said pleasantly to the midwife. "I do apologise for being late, I was held up with a client. Sherlock Holmes, you know, consulting detective. I expect Dr. Hooper has told you I'm the father? The nurse, Janet, told me to just knock on the door. I hope I'm not too late." His gaze slid past the midwife's face to lock into Molly's shocked one.

The midwife looked flustered, shifting her own gaze from Sherlock to Molly. "I'm sorry, Dr. Hooper. I didn't realise your partner would be coming."

"As I said," Sherlock interposed smoothly, "I was held up with a client consultation and initially did not think I would be able to make it. But here I am." He smiled brightly at the midwife and pushed his way into the room. Then he leaned down casually and kissed an astonished Molly on the lips before saying, "Sorry I'm late, darling. I didn't miss hearing our baby's heartbeat, did I?"

Molly realised Sherlock had observed the Doppler monitor and her opened trousers, thus coming to the correct conclusion. She swallowed nervously. What the hell was he doing here? And why was he acting as if they were a couple? He was giving her an intense look and she felt his hand take hers briefly and squeeze it, so she decided to play along.

"No, you're not too late. The midwife was just about to check for the heartbeat." She returned his too-bright grin with a hesitant smile of her own.

"Excellent," Sherlock proclaimed, moving from her side to pull over a chair so that he would be beside Molly on the other side of the examination table from the midwife.

Laura seemed to have recovered somewhat from her surprise, and she said, "Alright, let's get on with it then."

She squeezed the gel onto Molly's abdomen and then pressed the Doppler against her skin, searching for the heartbeat.

Molly was surprised to feel Sherlock's fingers thread through her own, as the midwife slowly moved the Doppler monitor. A few seconds later a sound came through the monitor, a faint whooshing sound. Molly felt tears prick her eyes at the sound. There really was a tiny life growing within her. She slid her gaze up to Sherlock's whose eyes were wide. She had never seen him look that way before. Perhaps he was in buffering mode. John had told her that Sherlock sometimes did that when his brain was unable to process something immediately.

Laura continued to move the monitor, trying to get a clearer sound, when the sound grew fainter, then fainter still, then louder again in a different area.

"Oh," she exclaimed, looking up at Molly in bemusement. "I think you might be having twins."

Molly's mouth dropped open even as Sherlock shook his head slightly. "It's never twins," he said in a confident tone, and the midwife raised her eyebrow at him.

"Whoever told you that nonsense? Approximately three percent of pregnancies result in twins." She moved the monitor around again and found a heartbeat, then moved to a slightly different location, the previous one. "Definitely twins," she announced, adding, "Two strong heartbeats," before removing the Doppler monitor and handing Molly a tissue with which to wipe the gel from her abdomen.

Molly was in shock. She had been prepared to raise one baby alone, but two? And yet, here was Sherlock, acting to all intents and purposes as if he were looking forward to the prospect of fatherhood. She looked back up at him and saw that his eyes were moist.

"Twins," he breathed, and there was a note of - could it be - _awe_ n his voice?

"Well, congratulations, you two," Laura remarked with a smile. "You can just leave the room when you're ready." With those words she exited, and Molly began to fasten her trousers. She didn't look at Sherlock as she asked, "Why did you come today? And how on earth did you know I was here?"

Sherlock ignored her questions, stating abruptly, "I'm coming home with you, Molly. And we are going to talk this out. I'll explain everything when we get there. You are not going to avoid me anymore." His voice was calm but she heard the note of steel beneath, and she gulped.

She darted a look at him. His face was serious, there was no longer any trace of moisture in his eyes. It had probably been a trick of the light anyway. "Alright."

Sherlock hailed a taxi and they got in. They didn't speak on the way to Molly's flat, and she held her hands tightly clasped in her lap. Sherlock was such a mass of contradictions. She had no idea what to expect from him.

When they arrived at her flat, Molly's first instinct was to make them a cup of tea, but Sherlock had other ideas. "Sit," he ordered, for all the world as if he owned the place, and Molly obeyed, perching nervously on her sofa.

Before he had a chance to talk, she asked, "How did you find me today?"

He looked down at her, then took the seat next to her, crossing his legs and angling himself so he could face her better. "I stopped by the hospital. Mike Stamford said you left early for an appointment. You _never_ leave work early, so I made the obvious deduction. I looked for the nearest hospital with a maternity ward, went there and asked for you by name."

Molly blinked in surprise. "Why did you come to Bart's in the first place? Are you on a case and thought you'd take the opportunity to ask for my help, to break the ice between us?"

Sherlock huffed out a breath and knit his brows together. "Don't act so bloody obtuse, Molly. I thought you much more intelligent than any of my other colleagues." At her blush, he continued. "Let me start from the beginning. When you refused to answer my texts, I didn't know what to do. I knew I had hurt you, and your silence indicated that you were not interested in letting me explain things. I...I confess, I was tempted to return to using." His eyes dropped before hers and he stared at his lap. "I spent a day fighting the urge to shoot up, and then I found my stash. I had a syringe all ready, the needle against my skin, when I remembered what you had said about not wanting to be the cause of me returning to using. It was the hardest thing I've ever done, to force myself to throw away that chance to lose myself in a haze of oblivion, to forget what I'd put you through."

His eyes lifted once again to meet hers and she saw the raw pain in his eyes. "After that I decided to think things through. I needed to process what had happened to me, what I'd done to you, and re-evaluate everything I thought I knew. I didn't want to come to your flat because I was sure you would deny me entrance. I considered picking the lock and waiting for you to get home from work, but I thought that might agitate you as well. So, this morning I decided I would just have to come to the hospital where you wouldn't be able to throw me out so easily because you would not want to make a scene. Then, as I said, I discovered you weren't there and decided to seek you out."

Molly pursed her lips. "But you didn't need to barge in on my appointment as if you and I were openly in a relationship. Now you've basically admitted in front of witnesses that you are the father of my baby, I mean babies." _That is going to take some getting used to,_ she thought silently before continuing. "People are going to talk and everything will come out."

His lips tightened and he seemed to withdraw from her, as he schooled his expression into a remote mask that made her shudder internally. "Are you saying you are embarrassed now that I am acknowledging paternity?"

Molly's lips trembled and she looked down, folding her hands in her lap. "Not at all," she said in a low voice. "You told me you didn't want to be a father." She looked up again, meeting his gaze and neutral expression. "Last time we spoke - before the phone call I mean, you said you needed to think about what you wanted to do in regard to the baby."

She could see his control slipping again as his hands suddenly clenched. "Maybe I've had time to think things through and I want to be part of my child, oh God, I mean _children's_ lives. I don't want any child of mine to have the kind of childhood I had."

She reached a hand out and closed it over his clenched fist. "If that's what you want now, that's fine." Then she registered what he had said about his childhood. "What happened in your childhood that caused this change?"

Sherlock drew a deep breath. "Molly, That's one of the things I need to tell you about. I have a sister I didn't remember."

As she looked at him in wide-eyed astonishment, Sherlock suddenly seemed to deflate, as his austere mask fell away and he let out a heavy sigh.

She laid a gentle hand on his arm. "Alright, I'm listening."

she listened without interruption as he told her everything that had happened a few nights earlier, up to and including the phone call. Now she finally understood the presence of those surveillance cameras in her flat, that it had been part of an elaborate set-up by Sherlock's sister to test him on his emotional response to various types of love.

He skipped over their conversation, saying he would address that last, then related the rest of the events of that night, as Molly listened in horror. He had been ready to kill himself in order to end his sister's sick game but had been unsuccessful due to the use of a tranquiliser dart, and the "game" had continued. He had endured so much and Molly's heart ached for him. When he finally told her about his childhood friend Victor, and how his sister Eurus had left him in a well to die, Sherlock's face and body sagged into the sofa and he closed his eyes in anguish.

Molly leaned over and tentatively touched his face, stroking his cheek gently. "I'm so sorry, Sherlock, for everything." Nobody deserved to go through what he had endured, and for the first time she understood how a sweet little boy had closed himself off to emotion in order to forget, and had grown into a cold, aloof man who abhorred sentiment and was unable to truly love.

Suddenly his arms came around her waist and he was holding her close, burying his head in her neck, and she could feel the warmth of tears staining her blouse. "I'm sorry Molly, for everything I've put you through, not just the other day but these past few months." His voice was muffled and choked with tears, but she understood.

She stroked his hair gently. "It's alright, Sherlock. I know now you didn't intend to hurt me. I always knew what I was getting into. Now I understand why you are unable to truly love in a romantic way. You're a product of your childhood experiences."

He raised his face slightly to look at her, swallowing and attempting to bring himself under control. "No, Molly, now you are misunderstanding me on what I'm trying to say here. I didn't understand before, but now I do."

Molly's brows furrowed. She didn't know what he was getting at. "What do you understand now that you didn't before?" she asked quietly, as her hand rested lightly on his shoulder.

"Love, Molly," he whispered. "I didn't understand love. Not until-" he paused, and his voice changed, sounding more sure of himself as he met her questioning gaze, "-until I said those words for the second time."

His hands came up to grasp either side of her face and Molly almost forgot to breathe as he looked deeply into her eyes, his own face streaked with the tears he had shed. "There's something else I skipped telling you which happened immediately after the phone call. The coffin I was telling you about, the one Eurus was taunting me with that was meant for you - I smashed it to bits. The thought that I might have lost you, it was like a stone in the pit of my stomach. The idea of losing you Molly, whether to death or because you reject me, it's like a knife in my heart. I can't imagine my life without you. So this is what I need to express to you, if it isn't too late."

Molly felt tears trickling down her cheeks, even as he said the words she had longed to hear for so long, this time unprompted. "I love you, Molly. I _love_ you. I don't know how else to say it, but I'm _in_ love with you. Forgive me for being such a bloody idiot, for not recognising that what I was feeling for you was more than just caring."

Now at last, everything was transparently clear. "Of course I forgive you, Sherlock," she choked out.

"Is it too late for us?" he asked anxiously, his thumbs brushing at her tears. "Can we start over? Do you still love me?

She gave him a teary smile. "I could never stop loving you. I was angry and hurt, and I'm sorry too that I refused to let you explain. I was just trying to protect myself from further pain and humiliation. And then Mycroft called and told me you'd been in a situation which required you to have me say those words to you. He didn't explain anything else, but expressed the hope that it wouldn't ruin our friendship. I couldn't tell him you had already tried to contact me and that I had refused to let you explain anything." She paused, then added with a wry smile, "He did have two men come to my flat and remove those hidden cameras though. I'm glad you explained what they were for because Mycroft wouldn't tell me anything about them."

He dropped his hands to her shoulders, squeezing them. "God, I'm so sorry, Molly. I never even gave those bloody cameras a second thought. I mean, there's no danger now and Eurus is no longer a threat, but I should have been the one to make sure those damned cameras were taken away."

Molly's lips pursed suddenly. "Well, as far as I'm concerned, it's the least your brother could do, clean up the mess he caused. You said he's the one who arranged for Moriarty to meet with your sister that Christmas for five minutes." She couldn't help feeling angry about Mycroft's role in everything that had transpired.

Sherlock's fingers tensed on her shoulders. "Don't be too mad at him, Molly. He was ready to sacrifice himself to save John, and if this whole thing hadn't happened, I would still probably not understand that what I feel for you is actually love. And even though there weren't really any bombs planted in your flat, I didn't know it at the time and all I could think about was the fact that I could lose you and our baby as well. That was when I knew I wanted to be a father to our offspring. So if you look at things from that perspective, maybe it was the push that I needed to acknowledge my love for both you and our child." He paused. "Oh hell, how am I going to get used to not having one child on the way, but two?" His one hand released her shoulder and thrust it distractedly though his hair.

Molly felt her anger at Mycroft dissipate somewhat. There was truth in what Sherlock said, and she had always believed things happened for a reason, that God was ultimately in control of everything that occurred. "I guess I can forgive your brother as well for what he did, seeing as you are here now with me. Besides, he's going to be our babies' uncle. We'll get through this together. I'm so glad I won't have to bring up the babies on my own now."

"Thank you, Molly, and I will do my utmost to ensure that you and our children are kept safe in future." He drew a little closer and once again his hands reached to clasp the sides of her head. "I think we've done enough talking for now. What do you say to some non-verbal communication?"

She barely had the opportunity to utter a soft, "Yes," before he closed the final distance between them and he was kissing her, covering her lips with his fully, giving her the heart he had not known he possessed, replacing the void that had existed within her for so long, since she had given her own heart to him.

He slid an arm beneath her knees and pulled her onto his lap, and then he was kissing her wet cheeks, her forehead, her nose, trailing a line of kisses down her throat. She linked her hands together behind his head, stroking his curls with her thumbs, losing herself in his embrace, hardly daring to believe that it was really true. He loved her, he really loved her. And he wanted to be a father to their babies as well.

Blood pounded in her ears, as his hand moved to unfasten the buttons of her blouse. "I want you, Molly, to be with you," he murmured huskily, after removing his mouth away from her skin to look into her eyes. Their breathing was uneven and she could see his eyes were dilated with the passion he was feeling.

She swallowed, feeling the rush of desire overwhelm her at his words and the expression of love in his eyes. "I want to be with you too."

He smiled tenderly. "This time, I'm going to make love to you because I love you. From now on it's never going to be about the sex, it's going to be about the love we feel for one another."

Molly sniffed, trying to prevent a fresh wave of tears from falling. He was saying such wonderful things to her. "Yes," she breathed on a whisper. "Make love to me, Sherlock."

He stood then, bringing her up with him, and he carried her to her bedroom, laying her down ever so gently.

And she felt the difference this time as they made love. This time his own words of love added to hers as they kissed and caressed one another, and Molly felt truly cherished. Sherlock placed several kisses to her belly as well, telling their unborn babies how he loved their mother and would do his best to be a good father to them.

It was almost perfect. Molly's one little sadness was that despite everything, Sherlock would probably never be interested in making their relationship legal. She had grown up believing in the sanctity of marriage and everything that came along with it. But legal or not, she felt bound to him as if they were married, which she told herself was enough. She had received so much today, and she would just be grateful for that. _Besides, Molly,_ she reasoned to herself sternly, _would you really expect Sherlock to get down on bended knee and propose when he just realised he loves you? Give the poor guy a break._

Molly snuggled closer into Sherlock's embrace and decided she was not going to bring up the subject of a permanent arrangement. If Sherlock ever wanted more, it would have to be his decision.

* * *

**Author's note:** Well, there you have it. Sherlock has finally stopped being an idiot and acknowledged his love for Molly.

What did you think of the revelation that there are two babies, not one? I thought it would be fun to do something different!

I must thank **Ninewood** for a comment she made on another story regarding how Molly might react to the knowledge that Mycroft had set the whole thing in motion by allowing Eurus and Moriarty those five minutes. I couldn't address that in the other story because I just finished the dream portion of it, but fortuitously, the conversation fit perfectly into the current chapter of this story. I hope you liked it! **Ninewood** also wondered in her review on the last chapter of this story, how Sherlock might take things if aMolly refused to talk to him, whether it could lead him back to drugs, so I added in a sequence about him considering it. Therefore I must offer a double thanks to my reader!

Don't forget the review box below. If you feel you have nothing constructive to say, even a "thanks for this chapter" is always appreciated! As I have mentioned before, I respond to every review, follow and favourite I receive. If you haven't heard from me, log into your account through the website rather than the app and you'll see a pm from me.


	10. Planning a Party

Well, they were officially a couple. Two weeks had passed since Sherlock had confessed his love to Molly. They were taking tentative steps in their relationship, letting people know that they were together. For now, they had decided to not reveal that Molly was already pregnant. People would find out soon enough.

John's reaction had been interesting. He had seemed surprised, and yet not. When Molly had asked Sherlock about it later, he had told her that John had had it in his head that he, Sherlock, harboured a secret crush on Irene Adler. After the phone call, however, John had begun to rethink that when he had heard Sherlock tell Molly that he loved her with such sincerity in his tone.

Mycroft had seemed rather unsurprised, and Molly suspected that his constant surveillance of Sherlock meant that he was probably aware of their relationship before anyone else, but had just kept quiet about it.

The most satisfying reaction, however, had been that of Mrs. Hudson. She had been absolutely over the moon. Molly could tell that she loved Sherlock dearly as a son, and that his happiness was the most important thing to her. She had even expressed a desire to babysit their children if and when the time came. Molly had been tempted to tell her that time would be coming sooner rather than later, but had restrained herself.

Sherlock spent most of his free time at Molly's flat, as renovators worked to restore 221B to its former condition. Everything had been cleaned out and re-painted by this time. On the occasions where Molly had visited, she had seen that for herself. One of the few things that had survived the blast had been Sherlock's favourite chair which was now in the sitting room that was devoid of all other furniture. Surprisingly, his violin had also miraculously survived, and he had entertained her by playing it for her on a couple of occasions.

They had spent most nights together, either at Baker Street or her place, and Molly had never felt more loved. He had even been there for her when she had continued to experience morning sickness, taking care of her with flat lemonade and Ritz crackers to put in her stomach after each bout of nausea that ended up in a trip to the bathroom.

Mike Stamford was the only person at this point who knew that Sherlock and Molly were expectant parents, and Molly felt rather glad that he no longer needed to think she might have had a one-night-stand. She remembered his reaction on the day Sherlock had come into the lab while she was at work, and kissed her in front of him.

After Sherlock had gone, Mike had given her a knowing look. "I see how it is now," he informed her with a smile, and she blushed, asking him to not mention to anyone about her pregnancy, that she and Sherlock would tell people when the time was right.

Here they were now, having a quiet dinner at Angelo's. Sherlock was discussing the aspects of one of his latest cases, and Molly had told him about her latest post-mortem. It was very domestic really, and Molly loved this newfound closeness of being able to share everything with Sherlock.

After they had finished their meal and ordered dessert, he suddenly spoke up.

"Molly, I have something to ask you, and I hope you will consider it carefully and answer in the affirmative." He looked at her seriously and Molly felt her heartbeat accelerate. Was he going to propose?

She bit her lip nervously as Sherlock reached into his pocket. He was holding something in his hand which he placed in front of her, and Molly couldn't help feeling disappointed. It wasn't an engagement ring, it was a key.

Pushing down those feelings of disappointment, she looked at Sherlock questioningly.

"It's a key, Molly, as you can see." He flashed her a quick, nervous smile. "I know we haven't officially been a couple for very long, but I was wondering-" he paused and swallowed, then finished in a rush, "would you move in with me?"

Molly's lips parted in surprise. She supposed she should have expected this, it was the next logical step for them. She stared at the key for some moments, recalling the words of her mother from very long ago.

_"Molly, I hope you will not choose to live with a man before you are married. However, I know that in this day and age it is common. I would just ask that if you choose to do so, you are sure of his commitment to you, and preferably at least be wearing his engagement ring as a promise to marry you."_

Molly had answered her mother confidently, sure that she would never be put in any position where she would want to live "in sin" with a man. It had certainly not even entered her mind to live withTom before marriage, but then again, she and Tom had never been intimate nor shared a bed, much to his disappointment. But could she really do this when a formal commitment might never be forthcoming?

Her fingers reached to touch the key and she bit her lip, feeling doubt overwhelm her.

Sensing her hesitation, Sherlock pressed on. "I hope you can see how logical this is. It makes sense for us to live together. We have a baby, I mean babies, on the way, and my flat could certainly do with some additional furnishings which you could provide."

Molly clenched her jaw and pressed her lips together. Did he really say that? Wass his whole objective in living together just a ploy to refurnish his flat? She opened her mouth to respond curtly, to let him know that living together should be about more than just sharing furnishings, but he beat her to it.

"I'm sorry, Molly. That came out wrong. Don't misunderstand me, please. It would certainly be convenient to not have to search for new furnishings for my flat, but that's not the only reason I want you to live with me." He reached over and took her hand, looking at her earnestly. "I love you. I want to wake up beside you each morning, to share our days _and _nights together, instead of going back-and-forth between our places. Please say yes, Molly."

Despite her reservations, Molly could see the practical side of things, and if she were honest with herself, she wanted her babies to grow up in a two-parent home, so she pushed aside the guilt and made the decision that would change her life forever and nodded. "Yes, Sherlock. I'll move in with you."

She was a little surprised when Sherlock stood then with a whoop of triumph and pulled her up into his arms for a lingering kiss. "Thank you, Molly," he murmured afterwards. "I promise you won't regret this."

Despite that tiny niggle of guilt, Molly smiled at him. It was definitely too late now for her to start regretting the decisions she had made since she and Sherlock had consummated their relationship.

It was amazing how quickly things were set into motion after that night. At the end of another two weeks, Molly was completely moved out of her flat and ensconced in 221B, much to the delight of Mrs. Hudson, who declared that it would be wonderful having another female around with whom to chat. She had to admit that it was wonderful waking up every morning in the arms of the man she loved.

No sooner were things situated than Sherlock announced, much to Molly's surprise, that he would like to have a special party, a joint celebration of the restoration of 221B and of Molly moving in with him. He informed her that his parents would be up there next weekend from Sussex because they would be visiting Eurus, and he felt that evening would be a good time for their party. When Sherlock was enthusiastic about something, Molly didn't argue with him. By the time of the party, Molly would be over thirteen weeks pregnant and they would have officially been together for several weeks. They had discussed things and decided they would announce at the party that they were expecting.

On the day before the party, Sherlock was sitting in his chair casually, with his dressing gown over his grey shirt as he watched Molly try on a red dress. She was nervous about whether she could get away with wearing it and not looking obviously pregnant.

After getting into the dress, Molly sat on his lap and pat a hand around his neck, leaning into him. "What do you think?" she questioned. "Does this dress make me look pregnant? I don't think it does. Being sick so much has meant I really haven't put on any weight as yet." She gave him a nervous look, smoothing a hand down the front of her dress over the small bump that might just look as if she were a little bloated.

Sherlock grinned. "You look beautiful, Molly, but then you always do, and I agree, you don't look obviously pregnant in this dress." His hand reached to the hem of her dress to caress her leg. "But, for now, I think you should definitely get back out of it. Here, let me help you."

He kissed her passionately as his right hand moved towards the zipper of the dress. Apparently they were not going to the bedroom this time, thought Molly vaguely as Sherlock tugged the zipper down and soon her dress was laying rather haphazardly on the floor along with his dressing gown, followed by the rest of their clothes.

Afterwards, as Molly rested her head against Sherlock's bare chest, feeling the rapid tattoo of his heartbeat slowly regulate, she marvelled at how sturdy his chair was, but then again, it _had _withstood an explosion.

Early on the day of the party, Sherlock was picked up by Mycroft's limo so he could go to Sherrinford with his parents and brother.

Molly spent the day preparing things for the party with Mrs. Hudson's help. Together they made various biscuits and snacks for people to munch on, and Mrs. Hudson, with Sherlock's assistance earlier, had brought up some extra folding chairs that she owned, to provide more seating for the sitting room. Sherlock and Molly had even selected a playlist of songs that would be playing in the background as people chatted, and Sherlock had also told Molly he planned to play some violin pieces as entertainment.

As they worked side-by-side, Mrs. Hudson confided to Molly, "You know, dear, it might have been a surprise to others about you and Sherlock, but it really wasn't to me, even though I pretended it was at the time you informed me that you were in a relationship. I had been suspecting for a while there was something going on between you two. All those comings and goings were a little bit too frequent for you to be just bringing over body parts and the like for experiments." She smiled indulgently. "Besides that, there was, I don't know, a glow about you when you were around one another."

Molly looked at her in surprise. "And we thought we were being so careful."

"Well, it's all out in the open now and I'm very pleased that Sherlock is being so forthcoming about his relationship with you. I know it was a huge step for him especially, to ask you to move in here. He's most definitely committed to you."

Molly couldn't help saying, with a rather sad smile, "I know he is, but I can't help hoping he might want to one day make things legal. I grew up in a home where marriage was important, and I just don't know if it's something Sherlock would be able to handle."

Mrs. Hudson patted her hand. "Sherlock is a very complex, private man but he has really matured just in the past few weeks since you have officially been a couple. Perhaps he will surprise you yet." That made Molly feel somewhat more hopeful.

The flat was definitely going to be more crowded than usual, she reflected a little later, when-the preparations were complete. John would be there with Rosie of course and his new girlfriend Kayla, who was one of Molly's best friends from her church. John had met Kayla on the day where she and Molly's best friend from work, Kaitlyn, had been packing up for the move to Baker Street. John had of course volunteered to help with the move. He and Kayla had hit it off immediately, and Molly was pleased to see John smiling a lot more these days.

Greg would also be present with his own new girlfriend Lori, whom he had met online via a dating service. She was American, and Molly enjoyed hearing her southern twang when she spoke.

The party was due to start at seven o'clock, and Sherlock arrived home, along with Mycroft and his parents an hour before that. Molly had ordered pizza for them, having been too busy with preparing snacks for the party to cook herself. She was delighted to meet Sherlock's parents who were very unpretentious and friendly. Violet Holmes was ecstatic that her son had finally found a woman, and she made no secret of the fact that she hoped they would provide her with grandchildren. Molly thought it was very sweet that she did not mention the fact that she and Sherlock were not married or even engaged.

People began arriving shortly before seven and Molly was kept busy passing around various snacks, while Sherlock poured champagne and other non-alcoholic beverages for their guests. Molly of course did not take the champagne.

Sherlock had purchased a cot-bed and it was upstairs in John's old room, ready for Rosie if she needed it. The infant seemed to be having a good time though, being passed from one person to the other. She obviously adored Kayla as well, and Molly had a feeling that John's future looked bright. The other person Rosie absolutely adored was Sherlock, of course. Every time he had the chance to hold her, she would reach up a little chubby fist and grab one of his curls. Molly couldn't blame her. Sherlock's curls were definitely one of the physical attributes she loved most about him. Well, okay, she also really loved those full, sensual lips as well, and the intensity of his changeable eyes. Then there was that lean, muscular frame of his and - oh heck, she loved _everything_ about Sherlock, even his scars that told the story of his dangerous past.

Just before eight o'clock, Sherlock called Molly aside. "Are you ready for me to make our announcement?" he asked her quietly. Molly bit her lip and nodded. She hoped people would be happy for them, but that sense of guilt continued to nag her over the fact that she was unmarried and pregnant, even though she had a committed partner.

Sherlock raised the champagne glass and tapped it with a spoon, almost as if they were at a wedding. "May I have everyone's attention please?" he asked in a commanding voice, and the room immediately quieted.

Once there was silence he continued. "Molly and I have an announcement to make." Molly heard Kayla say softly to John, "Are they getting engaged?" and she flushed. Out of all her friends, Kayla was the one who she felt would be surprised that she was having a baby without the benefit of marriage. She knew Kayla well enough to know though, that she would not judge her, and would support her regardless.

Sherlock took Molly's hand and she stood beside him, feeling very shy. "Tonight is a celebration of more than the flat being restored and Molly agreeing to move in with me." He glanced at her fondly and squeezed her hand before continuing. "We would like to let you all know that we are expecting."

The silence was deafening for a moment, and then the room erupted in calls of congratulations and good wishes. Sherlock's mother immediately came up to him and beamed. "Here I was, going on about having grandchildren, and you already knew Molly was having a baby?" She slapped him lightly on the arm. "For shame, son." She wrapped her arms around Molly for a warm hug. "I'm so happy for you, dear," she said sincerely, before turning back to Sherlock.

Sherlock's lips quirked into a smile. "If you think that news is good, you might find this even better."

Violet Holmes looked at him and raised her eyebrow. "And what could be better than finding out I am going to be a grandmother?"

Sherlock slid his arm around Molly's waist. "How about being a grandmother twice over?"

His mother's mouth dropped open in surprise, as did John's, who had just come up to congratulate them. She fanned her hands in front of her face. "Are you telling me you're having…twins?" Then she seemed to collect herself. "But how could you possibly know that so early?"

Molly could see John giving Sherlock a suspicious look.

"Actually," Sherlock cleared his throat and looked a little embarrassed, "Molly and I have been together a little longer than the official announcement would seem."

Violet Holmes's mouth opened and then closed again, even as John said, "So all that drivel I was spouting about Irene a few weeks ago was even more ridiculous? I'll just bet you were having a good old laugh at my expense, seeing as you were already involved with Molly."

Molly blushed, but Sherlock merely nodded, pulling Molly a little closer and bending down to kiss her cheek. Then he said, "Molly has always been the only woman for me."

Molly's heart leapt at his words. It was still incredible to hear him being so outspoken about his feelings for her.

The news of their expecting twins swept around the room very fast and more congratulations were given. Mrs. Hudson, of course, was almost beside herself with excitement, volunteering once again to offer her babysitting services whenever needed.

Even Kayla came up to Molly and hugged her. "I'm so happy for you, Molly," she said sincerely. "I know you've been longing to be a mother for years. You deserve this."

Thank you, Kayla," responded Molly with a grateful smile. She was relieved that Kayla had not asked whether she and Sherlock were planning on getting married.

Greg and Lori came up, and Greg patted Sherlock on the back. "You know, Sherlock, a few weeks ago I said to one of my junior officers that you were not just a great man, you were a good man. You've really changed, mate, and for the better."

"And oh my word, your babies are going to be so good-looking and so intelligent," enthused Lori, giving Molly a hug. Molly couldn't help giggling as she looked up at Sherlock, who was shaking his head and smiling.

Soon afterwards, Sherlock turned off the music which had been playing quietly in the background, picked up the duffel bag containing his violin, and made an announcement. "I thought I would entertain you all a little with some violin music this evening."

He gestured at Molly, who had been holding Rosie and talking to Kayla, and set down the bag. Molly handed the baby back to her friend and walked towards him. "I'm going to put some rosin on my bow. Would you mind extracting the violin for me and holding it until I am ready for it?" he asked her, even as he bent down to unzip the bag in which his violin had rested since his visit to Sherrinford earlier that day. He pulled out the bow and rosin, then started to apply the rosin, while Molly reached into the bag for the precious Stradivarius that was Sherlock's pride and joy.

She lifted out the violin from the bag gently and frowned. There was something rattling inside it. Perhaps part of it had broken off. It was only in a duffel bag after all, rather than a regular violin case. His original violin case had been destroyed in the explosion, and he had not yet bought another, so she supposed the duffel bag was the best protection he could find for the instrument.

Sensing something was amiss, Sherlock set the rosin down and raised an enquiring eyebrow at Molly as she gave him an apprehensive look and bit her lip. "I think your violin might be broken."

The quiet buzz of conversation that had begun while Sherlock was preparing to play stopped, and there was a sudden silence.

* * *

**Author's note:** Oh dear, I know that was a rather ominous ending for the chapter. To those of you who are familiar with my "real world" Sherlock and Molly, I hope you enjoyed the addition of my OC's Kayla and Lori to the mix. Did you enjoy the reaction of Mummy Holmes to the news of her impending grandparenthood times two?

This chapter also contains the scene from my title cover that was done by my wonderful reader **Elizabeth Robello**. Did anyone notice that? If you have not noticed it before, please take a look at it!

I know I sped through the timeline a little here and din't cover the reactions of people to the news that Sherlock and Molly we're together in the way I normally do with long conversations, but this story has been about moving the plot along faster, unlike my 48 chapter epic. So I do apologize if you were expecting chapters of reactions from friends.

On a personal note, I have actually been thinking a lot about this story and although I know it has been received well, and I do thank all of the readers who have showed me their support with their response to it, I feel that I was a little harsh in my interpretation of Sherlock. When I reflect upon how his personality changed and softened in seasons three and four, I don't feel he would really have been as callous with Molly as I have shown him to be. I feel like I was writing more of a season one/early season two version of him until of course he recognized his love for Molly after the phone call. Oh well, what is done cannot be undone and this is, after all, just a dream that perhaps personifies the real Molly's fears on how she and Sherlock might have behaved if things had gone differently.

How do you feel about it? Do you think he was a little OOC in his treatment of Molly? Was he cruel or merely oblivious to his own affections? It would be interesting to hear some more individual thoughts on that.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and look forward to responding to anyone who leaves their own thoughts on it. What will happen next?


	11. An Unexpected Result

Sherlock lifted a brow at Molly. "What makes you think it's broken?"

She wiggled the violin slightly and the rattling sound came again.

"Hmm," Sherlock mused, "I wonder if something could have happened when I put it away earlier. I did bump it against a chair." His forehead creased slightly before he said, "Well, I guess we should try and see what it is that is inside the violin. Molly, put your hand under that S shaped hole and I will try to see whether I can dislodge it, find out what is rattling."

Sherlock took the violin from her, and Molly obediently placed a hand beneath the narrow opening as Sherlock began to wiggle the violin gently upside down. After a few moments she felt something drop into her palm. "It's out," she said, hoping against hope that whatever it was was not an irreplaceable part of the violin.

"Let's see what it is then," suggested Sherlock, turning the violin over and moving it away from her hand. All eyes were on them as Molly ventured to look at the item in her hand, and then she gasped.

With trembling fingers, she picked up the item from her hand and gazed at it in utter astonishment.

"Interesting," murmured Sherlock. "It appears to be an engagement ring. Now how could that have fallen in there?"

Molly looked up at him then, and there was a teasing smile on his lips. "You…you put it there?" She managed, finding herself feeling suddenly weak at the knees. Did this really mean what she thought it meant?

Sherlock's lips quirked as he reached out to grasp her free hand. "I certainly hope nobody else would be wanting to propose to you." And then in front of her astonished gaze, and those of the assembled party, he dropped to one knee.

Molly's heart was pounding so hard she felt everyone must be sure to hear it. This couldn't be happening. But she looked at the soft, earnest expression in Sherlock's eyes and she knew it was. The room around her disappeared and all she could see was him as he began to speak.

"Molly, I'm rather certain you didn't think I was the type of man who would ever want a legal commitment. But you were in error. Since that night when I was forced to come to terms with the fact that I loved you, this was my endgame. I knew we were meant to be together for life."

Molly's eyes blurred with tears, and her hand trembled in his while her other one clutched the ring, as he continued.

"I've changed, Molly. I will probably make many mistakes and hurt you at times without meaning to, and I have no idea what kind of father I will be. But I want it all, now. I want to be a husband and a father, in short, everything that you want me to be. So will you have me, my love? Will you marry me and become Molly Holmes?"

His hand squeezed hers and she squeezed it back as she let out an involuntary sob of joy. "Are you absolutely sure this is what you want?" Despite the fact he seemed completely sincere, she couldn't help asking, just to make certain.

Sherlock looked around the room and commented dryly, "Well, I _was _hoping for an immediate yes," and several people laughed. Then he returned his gaze to Molly. "Nobody is making me do this. I don't know how I can make it any clearer. If it is changing your name to mine that is concerning you, well, we can discuss that, but-"

He didn't get a chance to finish, because Molly bent and flung her arms around him almost toppling him over in the process from his awkward one-knee stance. "Yes I'll marry you, you ridiculous man. I want to be Molly Holmes, more than anything."

And then her lips met his in a tender kiss. This was not the place to indulge in a lingering one with all the people present. The ring was still tightly clasped in Molly's hand, and when they pulled apart, Sherlock extracted the ring from it and placed it on the ring finger of her left hand.

Molly looked at the beautiful heart-shaped solitaire, even as Sherlock kissed both of her tear-stained cheeks and the party guests applauded.

Further congratulations were given to the couple, even from Mycroft who commented, "My brother certainly is a drama queen." His gaze softened a little as he added, "I'm glad he has you, Doctor Hooper."

"Molly, please," she responded with a smile. "I will be your sister-in-law, after all."

Mycroft nodded his acquiescence and wandered off to speak quietly with his parents. John came over with Kayla and a very sleepy Rosie. "I'm happy for you mate. Blown away, but happy. Twins eh? Thought your catchphrase is 'It's never twins'."

Molly laughed and Sherlock looked a little abashed, sliding an arm comfortably around her waist. "Apparently three percent of pregnancies result in twins."

"John, would you like me to take Rosie upstairs so she can sleep until you're ready to leave?" Molly inquired, seeing that the baby's head was drooping.

"If you don't mind, I think I'm going to head off now and put Rosie to bed once I've dropped Kayla off home," he said apologetically.

"Of course. Thanks for coming, and you too Kayla." She hugged her friend goodbye and kissed her goddaughter. After Sherlock had also kissed his goddaughter, the other couple left.

Sherlock entertained the remaining guests with a few pieces on his violin, and eventually people said their goodbyes and left, including Mrs. Hudson who made a comment that she hoped Sherlock and Molly would get married before the babies made wearing a nice wedding dress difficult.

Molly had blushed at that, while Sherlock had merely said, "We'll see."

Finally, the only guests remaining were Mycroft and the Holmes parents. Sherlock's parents had not yet talked to Sherlock and Molly, as their time had been monopolised by their friends, and apparently Violet Holmes was ready for a private chat, even as Mycroft stood a few feet away, nursing a glass of whiskey he had somehow managed to smuggle into the flat.

After Sherlock's parents offered congratulations once again on their engagement, Violet Holmes confided to Molly, "Sherlock let us in on his little plan on the way here. I'm so glad he is doing the right thing by you, even more-so now that he has put the cart before the horse, so to speak." At least that explained why Sherlock's mother hadn't seemed particularly perturbed about the fact they were living together and expectant parents, Molly thought. They had already known he was planning to propose.

Sherlock looked very uncomfortable. He pressed his lips together and frowned. Mycroft, Molly noticed, had a rather smug smile on his face. "Mummy, I'll thank you to keep those sorts of comments to yourself," Sherlock huffed, even as Molly slipped her hand into his.

The Holmes matriarch arched a brow at him. "I'm your mother. You can't tell me what to do." Then she gave him a loving smile. "Anyway, I'm just happy you have finally fallen in love after all these years. I had quite given up on you."

Sherlock huffed out a breath. "Isn't it time for you to leave now?" Molly gave him a quick jab with her elbow and he winced, then amended his previous words to, "Thank you for coming, Mummy, Daddy." He turned to Mycroft. "You too, big brother."

Surprisingly, Mycroft seemed to take pity on his brother. "We should be leaving anyway. Mummy and Father have an early train to catch in the morning."

William Holmes gave Molly a parting hug and whispered in her ear, "You keep him in line, young lady. He's lucky to have you." Molly felt an instant rapport with the man who definitely seemed to live in his wife's shadow most of the time.

"If you need any help planning the wedding, let me know," said Mrs. Holmes, smiling at the couple who assured her that they would seek help if needed.

Once Sherlock and Molly were the only ones left in the flat, he walked over to his chair and flopped down on it with a long sigh. "Well, that was an ordeal," he commented, opening his arms to Molly, who obediently sat on his lap and rested her head against his chest.

"Don't blame me, it was your idea." She tilted her head up to him and smirked.

Sherlock stroked her hair gently as he placed his other arm around her waist. "I wanted to do something special for you, sweetheart. I know how disappointed you were a couple weeks ago when I gave you that key. I could see it in your eyes."

Molly could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, and her gaze dropped. "I guess I'm a bit of a traditionalist, and my mum advised me many years ago to not live with a man before marriage, but that if I chose to do so, to at least have the commitment of an engagement ring."

"Oh, God, Molly, I'm so sorry. I guess I never really stopped to think how much your beliefs mean to you before. I mean, you hinted at them but I just figured you were like John."

Molly tilted her head up again and raised her brow inquiringly. "Like John?" She questioned. "How so?"

She saw the crease between Sherlock's eyebrows as he contemplated how to answer her question. "You know, he believes in God and all, but he doesn't go to church, and he doesn't really follow any particular moral code." Then he frowned slightly and added, "No, that's not true. He's a very good, moral man, but that doesn't extend to matters of a sexual nature."

She rested her head against Sherlock's chest again and murmured. "I guess views on sexual purity are generally taught to people of different faith systems, where the body is looked upon as a holy temple. I don't know much about other religions really, but in Christianity, the Bible makes things pretty clear about sexual purity, at least, that's my belief."

"That is interesting." Sherlock's hand resumed stroking Molly's hair. "I suppose because I never felt urges of a sexual nature before you, that I never bothered to look into why some people would wish to remain pure until marriage." She felt his lips on her hair before he added, "I must confess though, it was rather special to discover that you had not been intimate with anyone before me, despite your engagement to that other fellow."

Molly looked down at her hand to twist the new engagement ring on her finger. "I know you don't believe in God, by what you said at John's wedding. Do you know why? To me there is so much evidence of God around us. I see it in nature, I see it in the perfection of the human body and the way everything functions perfectly to sustain life." Then her hands dropped to touch her belly. "I see that even more clearly with our babies on the way, what a miracle life is, to begin with. How can you not attribute that to some higher power?"

Sherlock stopped stroking her hair to run a hand through his own as she darted a glance upwards. "I don't exactly know, Molly. I guess it's one of those things I never considered important. I live by my own rule of ethics, to leave the world in a better place than it was when I entered it."

She shifted slightly in his lap to look at him and trace a loving finger along his cheek. "But if there's no God, what is the point of having a code of ethics? If this shirt life is all there is, what does it matter if you do everything you can to get what you want?"

Even as she said the words, she felt a sudden rush of guilt. Hadn't she been doing that herself for the past few months? She had allowed her love for Sherlock to blind her, to compromise her own values, and tears suddenly sprang to her eyes.

"Well, you've certainly given me something to think about, love. I guess I'm going to have to spend some time in researching God. Maybe you can tell me why you believe-" He paused, suddenly noticing the tears that had begun to leak from her eyes. "Why are you crying?"

Molly's lips trembled as she responded. "My faith has always been so strong, well, except for the time when it got a little shaky because of my dad getting cancer." She swiped at her tears with the back of her hand and continued. "When I was just asking you about your code of ethics and why you have it, it made me realise how far away I've gone from God, from the things I believe in myself." She paused, and Sherlock began to rub his hand along her back in soothing circles.

"I'm sorry that I played a part in compromising your values, Molly. I did tell you that after our first time together, when you said you had been a virgin and that you were brought up to believe you should wait until marriage for sex."

"I know," mourned Molly, squeezing her eyes shut. "What can I say? I'm not perfect, and I make mistakes."

Sherlock's hand stopped rubbing her back and he raised his other hand to bring her face towards his. She opened her eyes and saw hurt in his own. "So you are saying that our sexual intimacy was a mistake, that the conception of our children was a mistake?"

"Yes, no, I don't know!" she burst out, then tried to put her thoughts in order. "I know I love you with all my heart, and the lives growing within me, and of course I could never think their conception was a mistake. It was a gift from God, but I feel as if I need to repent of my sins."

"What does that even mean?" asked Sherlock, giving her a perplexed look.

Molly bit her lip. "I feel like God has blessed me beyond measure, despite all the things I've done wrong. I want to pray for forgiveness and do what is right in the future."

Sherlock withdrew his hand from her face. "Could you tell me exactly how you propose to accomplish that? You can't go back in time and change things." Molly could hear once again the hurt in his voice, and see tears in his eyes, The sight made her own tears fall even faster.

"You're going to hate me for this, and you will probably change your mind about wanting to marry me," she whispered, pressing her lips together and looking at him fearfully.

She slid off his lap and walked to the unlit fireplace and placed her hands protectively over her abdomen. She knew what she had to do to make herself right with God.

Before speaking again, she uttered a silent prayer. _Forgive me, Lord. Forgive me for not following what I believe and trusting in you. Whatever Sherlock decides to do now, I will accept._

She breathed in and out through her mouth slowly, preparing to speak the words she was sure would spell the end for Sherlock and herself. Her voice was unsteady, but she got the words out. "Sherlock, I can't sleep with you again until our wedding night." There was a little catch in her voice as she added, "That is, if you even still want to marry me after this."

And her heart broke when there was no answer from Sherlock. It was over. She had gambled and lost, but at least she had the peace of knowing she had set things right in her relationship with God.

* * *

**Author's note: **Congratulations to the clever readers who correctly deduced the object inside the violin. Yes, the opening is big enough to accommodate a ring. Perhaps it was a little predictable but I'd venture to say I'm the first person to have Sherlock do something like that. If I'm wrong about that, do tell me, I like to find creative and unique things to do with the characters, and I've done several proposals by now but I feel this was the most creative one.

So, are you surprised at what happened at the end of the chapter? For those of you who are not really familiar with Christianity, I'd like to elaborate a bit. As Christians, we are as susceptible to making decisions that are in conflict with what we believe God wants for us. The topic of sexual purity is one that has always been a big topic of discussion within the church. In some churches it is given more emphasis than in others. However, even when we have grown up knowing those values, it doesn't mean all Christians succeed in remaining pure until the wedding night. We are all human and desire can be a potent thing. At the same time, God is a God of mercy and grace. It is never too late to repent and ask for forgiveness when we recongize we have been doing something that falls short of what we believe. I do not judge or condemn those who feel differently about abstinence before marriage. It is everyone's right to choose their own path. In _my_ "real" Molly's case however, she was brought up with the values of those who practice abstinence before marriage and this story is not only about Sherlock and their FWB experiment, but it is also about someone coming to terms with her own humanity and failures to live up to her own ideals. I hope it reads as realistic and that you can at least try to understand Molly's point of view. Again, I am pretty sure this is something you will never have seen before in the Sherlock fandom and at the very least, I hope you find it interesting to read something different to the usual type of story.

By all means, if you think Molly is being foolish, go ahead, state that in your review. Is it right for her to deny Sherlock sex at this point in their relationship? I'd be very interested to hear your thoughts.

The review box awaits your opinion as usual, and I will not be offended if your opinion differs from mine. I am always open to dialogue and discussion. In fact, I welcome it. I would be especially interested to hear from my international readers on what they are taught about abstinence before marriage, especially if they have also grown up in the Christian faith. I know different cultures can have varying differences. If I didn't want to hear from you I would just keep all my stories to myself.


	12. Anger and Reconciliation

**Author's note: **So, you may notice that this chapter begins with a Sherlock POV and then switches back to Molly later. This is not something I usually do mid-chapter, and being Molly's dream I definitely wanted it to be primarily from her perspective. However, I felt in this instance it was important to show how Sherlock felt about things once Molly had told him she wanted to wait for their wedding night before they slept together again. I wanted to show his confusion about it and how he processed things to make a decision. I hope you will find it believable.

Anyway - off we go!

* * *

Sherlock stared in utter shock at Molly's back. What had she said?

"_Sherlock, I can't sleep with you again until our wedding night."_

His mind immediately went into buffering mode, and he closed his eyes to process these unexpected words.

First, he felt anger, as his lips tightened and hands clenched. _Why did I propose to her, if it would lead to her denying me the intimacy we have become accustomed to? It's just not fair._

Tonight was supposed to be about a celebration of their love and commitment. He had planned to run a romantic bubble bath for them and then make love to his new fiancée. Sex had been even better for them since he had begun to verbalise his own feelings of love for her, but now she expected him to just return their relationship to what, exactly? Would he even be able to kiss her? What was the point really in enforcing this celibacy on them now, after the fact? For God's sake, she was already pregnant! None of their friends or family members seemed to have an issue with them already expecting a baby, _babies_, he reminded himself, before they were married. Even Mary had been pregnant when she and John had married. It was common enough. His mother was also happy he was doing the right thing by Molly in offering her the protection of his name, and was excited at the prospect of being a grandmother. It just seemed such a pointless exercise to all of a sudden act as if they hadn't been sleeping together for the past several months.

His thoughts were disturbed by a little sob from the direction of the fireplace and he opened his eyes briefly. Molly still stood, facing the fireplace, not moving except for the slight shaking that indicated she was crying as if her heart was breaking. He wasn't ready to deal with this, with her, and he closed his eyes once again to resume his analysis.

The anger faded away to be replaced by guilt. Molly had done so much for him, had always been there for him. She had never asked for anything from him, never taken advantage of him. She had loved him unconditionally even when he didn't feel worthy of it. She had given herself to him willingly, not knowing if he would ever return her romantic feelings for him. Hadn't he said himself that he did not think he had the capacity to love her that way? How it must've hurt her to know he was, to all intents and purposes, _using _her for his own sexual gratification.

The demon on one shoulder said, _"But that was her choice, you did not force her into anything."_

The angel on his other shoulder asked, _"Are you so selfish as to think sex is the most important part of your relationship?"_

Sherlock reflected on this. Was he only wanting to marry Molly because he enjoyed having sex with her? Was he just trying to do the right thing because she was pregnant, and he wanted to provide his name to their children?

The devil's advocate questioned, _"Don't you remember telling Mrs. Hudson your views on marriage? 'Two people who currently live together are about to attend church, have a party, go on a short holiday, and then carry on living together.' Why are you so keen on marriage now, anyway?"_

The side of the angels countered the demon with, _"Because you love her. Because you want to show your commitment in a tangible way. Marriage and the wedding rings that go along with it are a symbol of your lifelong commitment to one another. It is also a reminder to others that she is spoken for, not available to any other man."_

The anger came back, this time directed at himself. _Why is this even an issue? _ mind palace Sherlock asked. _You already know you love her and want to be with her for the rest of your life. How selfish are you to consider your own needs ahead of hers? If Molly wants to wait a little while for you to resume your sexual relationship, is it really such a big deal in the grand scheme of things? You managed to attain the age of almost forty without even thinking about it. This is something that is important to Molly, and you owe her the respect she rightfully deserves. You owe her much more than she owes you, because she has loved you, been there for you even at your lowest moments._

Sherlock's eyes opened, decision made. He could see Molly's shoulders shaking from the force of her emotions. _How long have I been thinking about this anyway? How long have I been torturing her with this silence?_ he berated himself.

He stood and walked to her, then placed his arms around her from behind, resting his hands over hers where they still rested over the slight swelling of her abdomen, the evidence of the miracle of life they had created together. He rested his chin on top of her head. "I'm so sorry, Molly. I'm a selfish bastard. If this is something you need to do, I will respect that." A wry smile she could not see curved his lips and he continued. "I'm not saying it's going to be easy, because quite frankly, I really enjoy the intimacies we share, but I'll do my part because I love you, and I never want to lose you."

She turned then in his embrace, resting her head against his chest putting her arms around his waist, clutching him as if her life depended on it. "Thank you," she whispered, and he kissed the top of her head.

"I do have one request though, Molly," he murmured, and she lifted her tear-stained face to him, raising an eyebrow in question.

"I don't know how well I will cope with this return to celibacy, so I would like us to marry as soon as possible."

"I want that too," she responded softly. Then she swallowed. "There is one other thing that I would ask, but if you say no, I will accept that."

This time it was Sherlock's turn to look at her enquiringly. "And what's that?"

She blew out a breath and he could feel her hands clenching convulsively into fists against his shirt. "I would prefer to be married in my church, rather than a registry office. I know you don't believe, but I do, and I want the blessing of God on our union." She bit her lip and waited for his response.

Sherlock nodded. "A church wedding it is. My mother would want that anyway."

"Thank you, Sherlock. I promise you, you won't regret this. I'll make it up to you on our wedding night."

"So, how is this going to work then?" he asked, still not sure to what degree Molly wished to halt things. "Do we sleep separately? Can I still kiss you or is that off-limits as well?" He really didn't like the idea of either of those things,.

Molly's hands relaxed at his waist. "Perhaps things would be easier that way but I don't think I could step back that far. I've kind of got used to sleeping in the same bed with you and there's nothing in the Bible that says kissing before marriage is wrong. It's just a matter of not allowing things to get out of hand."

Relief washed over him. He could do this, and he supposed the anticipation of the wedding night would be that much greater as a result. A smile touched his lips then as he asked, "Now that everything is settled, do I have your permission to kiss my future bride?"

Molly moved her hands from his back to place them around his neck and pull him towards her. "Yes, please."

And as their lips met and clung together, Sherlock knew he had done the right thing. He loved this woman and would do anything for her.

* * *

Things moved rather quickly after that. Sherlock and Molly had discovered that the law required a minimum of twenty-eight days notice of intent to marry, so a date was hastily set for soon after that enforced minimum time period.

With the help of Sherlock's parents, arrangements were made for a small wedding and reception, nothing fancy, just close friends and family.

Sherlock and Molly stuck to their arrangement. As Sherlock had claimed, it wasn't easy, especially in light of the fact they already knew the pleasures that existed in the act of love and sexual intimacy, but they managed to restrain themselves to kissing only, well okay, the occasional squeeze of a breast here or there, always on top of clothing. They were careful to not indulge in frequent kissing in the bedroom, knowing it would undoubtedly lead to other things.

A few days before the wedding, Molly remarked to Sherlock as they sat on the sofa together, and her hands rested on the swell of her belly which had suddenly increased in size enough to become quite apparent unless she was wearing loose-fitting clothing, "It's just as well we aren't waiting a long time to get married, or I wouldn't be able to fit into my wedding dress. Just as well the skirt of the dress falls from a high waist."

Knowing that Molly was a fan of the show, _Say Yes to the Dress_, Sherlock had arranged for them to go to the bridal boutique in Exeter and she had found her perfect dress, (which of course he had not been permitted to see).

Molly had also reconciled with her estranged mother, thanks to Sherlock's help in that regard. The women had eventually lost touch when Mrs. Hooper had turned to alcohol to help her cope with the loss of her husband, and Molly had been heartbroken to see her mother's decline into alcoholism. But she had been sober now for several years and had been delighted when Molly, at Sherlock's insistence that she should have at least one family member present at her own wedding, reached out to contact her mother with the good news. Molly knew that Sherlock was quite proud that he had played a part in bringing them together again.

Now, Sherlock chuckled and slid his arm around her, placing a kiss to her temple. "I'm afraid I have other reasons for being grateful that our wedding is only a few days away."

Molly blushed. She felt a peace about things now, and was anticipating their wedding night as well. It was almost as if things had been reset and it would be their first time. Of course, her pregnancy was a rather obvious indication that it wasn't going to be that, but Molly knew it would be very special, regardless of that fact. A second scan had revealed that they were expecting a boy and girl, and both expectant parents were thrilled at the news. Molly was quite amazed at the way Sherlock had completely embraced the idea of becoming a father when he had been so against it initially, and she was confident he would be a devoted one.

In their quiet time together, Sherlock had asked Molly to share more about her Christian beliefs, and she had willingly explained about it, quoting verses from the Bible to support it. She pointed out the many times he had escaped death, and the way she believed it was for a reason, not mere chance. This had set Sherlock to thinking about her words for some time, and he had come to acknowledge there was a God after all. Indeed, Sherlock had reasoned, there was much evidence to support the idea of Intelligent Design, and it made more sense than attributing everything to mere chance or luck. He even expressed a desire to explore things further once they were married, and it offered hope to Molly about them being able to share a common faith in the future as well.

On the evening before the wedding, Sherlock left Baker Street to spend the night at Mycroft's place, and Molly had the opportunity to spend some quiet time in prayer. She offered a prayer of thankfulness to God for blessing her. She also thanked God that Sherlock had become more aware of God and had started asking questions about her faith, in an effort to understand more about it. She prayed for the leading of the Holy Spirit to work on his heart and soften it, and she believed with all her heart that it would happen.

In the morning, after Molly had been to the hairdresser with her bridesmaids, Kaitlyn and Kayla, she was helped into her gown.

She pursed her lips and looked appraisingly at herself in the mirror, running her hands along her belly as she did so. Surprisingly the satin covered the swelling quite well, unless you really looked for it.

Her mother and Mrs. Hudson had also come to help her get ready, and they assisted her with her veil.

Mrs. Hudson left to head to the church and look after Rosie. John, of course, was Sherlock's best man, and Mycroft had agreed, somewhat reluctantly, to be an usher, having been bribed with first choice of the dessert table at the reception.

Soon afterwards, Mycroft's limo arrived to pick up the wedding party and Molly's mother, having left the men and the Holmes parents already at the church. Molly was almost breathless with nervous anticipation.

They arrived at the church, and of course there were many photographers and journalists waiting to see the woman who was to marry the famous Sherlock Holmes. It was a little intimidating, but Molly smiled and nodded at them before heading into the church.

When she stood at the opposite end of the aisle from Sherlock, she drew in her breath. Her heartbeat accelerated with excitement. He looked devastatingly handsome in his dark grey tailcoat and trousers with a cream coloured tie.

He stood watching her, with his hands clasped behind his back as she walked forward with her mother acting as escort.

After Sherlock lifted her veil, and she could see him clearly, her heart almost stopped with the tender expression in his eyes. As they said their vows, Molly could not help the tears of joy that ran down her face. _Thank God for waterproof mascara,_ she thought to herself, as she smiled through her tears, and Sherlock took a hanky from his pocket to tenderly wipe them away.

After the exchange of rings and the pronouncement that they were now man and wife, Molly felt this was the culmination of everything she had longed for. Finally, unbelievably, she was married to the man of her dreams and they belonged to one another in both the eyes of God and legally. She felt the presence of God and the blessing of their union.

After a kiss that was slightly longer than socially acceptable, Sherlock and Molly received congratulations from their friends.

Within what seemed like the blink of an eye, the reception was over and they were at the Ritz hotel which Sherlock had selected for their wedding night.

After Sherlock carried her somewhat awkwardly over the threshold into the opulent suite, staggering slightly as he did so, Molly commented with a quirk to her lips, after he put her down, "I've only put on ten pounds so far. Guess you're not as strong as I thought you were."

Sherlock pouted. "It isn't your weight gain that was the issue, it was that damned huge dress. Satin is not the easiest thing to keep hold of, Molly."

She giggled, and batted her eyelashes at him. "Well, I suppose it would be much easier if the dress were off, then."

Sherlock slid his arms around her waist, and a teasing smile curved his lips. "You made me wait a month for this, so you're going to have to wait just a little longer. I have something to do first."

His lips came down on hers, passionate and demanding, more-so than they had been over the past several weeks, because there was no longer any need to hold back. Molly yielded to him, sliding her hands around his neck and playing with the curls she had told him he was not allowed to have cut. They kissed until they were both breathless and then Sherlock pulled back.

"_Now_ will you help me out of this gown?" asked Molly, feeling quite desperate to be with the man she loved once again. She really needed to get out of her shoes too, they were positively killing her.

Sherlock smirked. "Impatient, aren't you?" He let out a low chuckle when she blushed at that. "Actually the thing I have to do was not the kissing part. Wait here."

To Molly's surprise, he walked into the bathroom and a minute later she heard the sound of running water. He was undoubtedly filling the bathtub.

Sherlock returned to her and she raised in enquiring eyebrow at him. "You want to take a bath? Didn't you shower before we got married?"

Sherlock picked up her hand and raised it to his lips, then said, "Of course I did. I want us to have a bath _together_. This had been my plan for the night we became engaged, until you changed our boundaries."

"I'm sorry I ruined your plans, Sherlock," she told him and her mouth turned downward. Was he still annoyed with her for making him wait?

"I'm not," he responded, caressing her cheek. "You were right for us to do this. It's like a new beginning for us, and I want to make sure this night is the one you and I remember as the start of our new journey together." He bent to kiss her again briefly, and Molly breathed a sigh of relief.

While the tub continued to fill, Sherlock removed Molly's veil and set it on the chair, then finally he helped her off with her gown and she removed her shoes. He glanced at her appreciatively and laid a gentle hand on her belly. "You're getting quite the baby bump there," he commented, "although it really wasn't noticeable at the wedding." Then he narrowed his eyes. "I am almost certain that your breasts have increased in size as well."

She blushed. "They have. I had to buy a bra in a larger cup size for the wedding."

Feeling a little under-clothed compared to her new husband, she reached for Sherlock's tailcoat and unfastened the button, then those of his waistcoat which he removed.

"I had better check on the water," he told her after that was done. Sherlock went back into the bathroom and Molly heard the sound of the water being turned off. A little thrill of anticipation ran through her. This would be something new for them, and it felt appropriate that it should happen on their wedding night.

"Ready for your bath, Mrs. Holmes?" asked Sherlock with a gleam in his eye, upon returning to where she still stood, waiting.

"Definitely," she said, a little breathlessly.

Sherlock's eyes raked over her hungrily in a way that made her catch her breath in anticipation. "I think we need to remove some more clothing first."

Once the rest of their clothes were dispensed with, Sherlock lifted Molly into his arms and carried her to the bathroom, then deposited her gently into the tub. She was surprised to see it was a bubble bath, and there was a small container that now sat empty at the side of the tub. He had used the whole thing to make a mountain of bubbles.

She moved forward slightly so Sherlock could slide in behind her, and then he washed her body, but started with her hair, complaining a little that it was rather stiff and prickly. Molly had to agree. The hairdresser, Nikki, had used what seemed like a whole can of hairspray to prevent the soft curls from falling out and returning to their natural straight state. She sighed in pleasure as Sherlock washed her body thoroughly, despite the fact her body wasn't really in need of it. By the way his hands lingered on her breasts and other certain more intimate areas of her body, she had the distinct feeling this was more foreplay than anything else, and she was not complaining about that at all. It was definitely doing the trick of getting her in the mood - not that she hadn't been to begin with.

She, in turn, washed Sherlock's body, and was rather pleased to discover that the process of washing one another's bodies was obviously as erotic for him as it was for her. She did her own share of teasing him as well, it was only fair, and he finally had to growl at her, "Enough, Molly."

After the bath, Sherlock and Molly towelled themselves dry. Molly was about to walk back out into the main room, when Sherlock scooped her up easily instead, and carried her over to the bed. _I guess he was telling the truth about the dress being his issue when carrying me earlier, rather than my weight gain, _she thought with an amused smile, as Sherlock settled himself beside her, raising himself up on one elbow to look into her face.

Sherlock noticed the smile. "What do you find that is so amusing, Molly? Is it the fact that my body is showing the signs of wanting to be with you?"

Molly's lips twitched. "Of course that's not what I find amusing, I have seen _that_ before you know," she teased. "In fact," she reached her hand downwards to that part of his body, "I'm rather glad you want me as much as I want you." Then she added her explanation for her smile, even as Sherlock groaned a little at her teasing caress, "I realised you are quite adept at carrying me, after all, when a wedding gown isn't hampering your efforts." She reached over with both hands then to draw his lips to hers. "Kiss me and make love to me as if it's the first time."

Sherlock was only too happy to comply, as he covered her lips with his own, cradling a hand behind her neck as the other explored with interest again the increased size of her breasts.

And then they were exploring one another with hands and mounts, until both were desperate with the need to be one.

As they made love, delighting in one another's bodies with joy, Molly knew that _this_ was what God had intended for them all along. She might have gone her own way, like a sheep going astray for awhile, but she had been found and returned to the safety of the fold, thanks to the Good Shepherd. She knew in her heart it was just a matter of time before Sherlock would be found as well.

As they fell into blissful slumber afterwards, and Molly was encircled in Sherlock's loving embrace, her last waking thought was to feel she was loved and blessed beyond measure. Even more than that - she had been forgiven.

* * *

**Author's note:** So, another happy conclusion and I hope it was as satisfying for you as it was for me. I admit, some of the wedding night scene is reminiscent of my story of their "real" wedding night in _Journey through a Wedding Night_. The nice thing about writing a dream story is that I can draw on memories from my "real" characters.

To the wonderful readers who have been leaving reviews, especially the ones who have actually thought about the story and added their own reflections on what they thought as it progressed, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

How did you find the twists and turns of this story? Do you feel it was written in a way that you found believable? I hope for those of you who are not really familiar with Christianity, that it helped you understand that true Christianity is not about acting as if we are better than anyone else, it is simply trying to do what we believe God wants for us, and to show that we don't always succeed in following our own values. We're human, we make mistakes, but God forgives us anyway because Jesus took the burden of our sin to the cross and offered his sinless life as payment for us all. In essence, we are redeemed and washed clean by the blood of Jesus. If you want to know more about Christianity and why we believe Jesus died for our sins and rose from the dead, feel free to pm me and seek the truth for yourself in the Bible. My faith gives me purpose in this life and if nothing else, I hope my method of sharing it touches you in a positive way.

If you have followed this story and enjoyed it, but have not left a review, this is your last chance to do so. Even a simple "thanks for your story" would be a nice acknowledgment. Are you a believer? A seeker? Or are you simply wanting to read a good story? I'd really like to know.

Until next time...


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